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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597358">while we're both still alive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_little_fool/pseuds/perfect_little_fool'>perfect_little_fool</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>however many times it takes (to get this right) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Cock Warming, Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, F/M, Feelings, Lots of Angst, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Miscommunication, Season/Series 02, Smut, Storybuilding, Unprotected Sex, backstories, soft, the helmet does have movement...at some point, then ACTUAL communication, when I say this is feelings heavy i mean it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:54:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,131</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597358</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfect_little_fool/pseuds/perfect_little_fool</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Your mouth falls into a frown. “Lots of words for someone who hired me as <i>his</i> negotiator.”</p>
<p>“Regardless, just an observation. Since you were brought onto my ship for,” he turns his helmet in your direction then, letting the pause sink in, “a certain set of skills.”</p>
<p>Heat trails over you again. Maker, he’s <i>teasing you</i>.</p>
<p>  <i>(or, five times you share parts of yourself with Mando and the one time he finally reciprocates)</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian/Reader, The Mandalorian/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>however many times it takes (to get this right) [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2099844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>167</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>while we're both still alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>song used for title: “Ends of the Earth” by Lord Huron</p>
<p>HELLLOOOOOOO THERE’S MORE. oof, sorry for the amount of time it took me to get out part 2 of this new series. hopefully the wait is worthwhile!! please get ready for actual COMMUNICATION and FEELINGS in this one as i work to develop the budding relationship between these two simps. also, please please please ignore a few things about the Star Wars universe while reading this. i took a few liberties and ... would like for it to not be an issue. anyway.</p>
<p>to clarify: in my canon divergence of season 2 of the show, Mando never ~left the Guild and is still hunting bounties for credits. not sure how clear i made that in the first installment. “love the way you wear that” (aka part 1) essentially diverges from canon after Chapter 12. </p>
<p>lastly, this is unbeta’d cus i’ve ... never had a beta. forgive me in advance</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Gah,” you exasperate as the kid grabs at your hair to pull himself higher up in your grip, a sting blossoming out over your scalp. “What did that Peli teach him in just one night? How to be an expert climber?”</p>
<p>The chuckle you hear off to your side has all the tell-tale warmth you’ve been feeling throughout your chest since this morning. You glance over at the person who made it, his silver-steeled helmet glinting under the suns beating down on the two of you in the marketplace. Having the kid back in your care is great, sure, but witnessing Mando watching you with a stance of—<i>adoration</i> boosts your mood even further. </p>
<p>“He’s happy to see you,” Mando gives, light laughter still coating his voice. “Wish I could say the same for myself. He’s barely spared me a glance.”</p>
<p>Almost as if by magic, the kid releases a little coo and twists in your arms to make grabby-hands at him. You can’t help giving a short chuckle of your own, shuffling forward to pass off the little beast. </p>
<p>Mando huffs. “I stand corrected.”</p>
<p>As the kid latches onto the gloves coming toward him, Mando’s fingers brush the backside of your hand. Without warning you feel heat spread across your face like a laser blast, breath dashing past your lips quickly. You feel like he’s watching your face as he takes the kid into his grasp, but the shame you harbor at your immediate reaction to just his <i>touch</i> keeps your eyes off his. </p>
<p>Even as flashes hit you of what transpired between the two of you last night, of his cock buried inside you, his spent on your face—you still burn with a sense of uncertainty, like you’re unsure of how he chooses to view you. You’ve never felt closer to him and you <i>know</i> you’re one of the few people he’s allowed this close, however—something inside you falters. He’s seen all of your entirety, literally, naked and exposed to him. </p>
<p>Yet he hasn’t done the same for you.</p>
<p>You turn and start to walk toward a certain vendor in the Tatooine marketplace, going through the mental checklist in your head of supplies you’ll need for the next cycle. Mando mentioned you’re travelling further through the Outer Rim, so stocking up on items now would be ideal.</p>
<p>As you’re swapping credits for some bars of soap and some stitched pieces of cotton, you hear him say your name off to the side. He’s just to your left, waiting with the kid in hand. “Yes?” you reply, averting your gaze to start stuffing the goods you’ve just procured in your bag. Other things flit through your mind—more fruit, a durable scarf or head-wrap, maybe even—</p>
<p>“Do you have enough credits?”</p>
<p>Your brows lower as you reinforce enough assurance in yourself to look back at him. “I should,” you answer. “You gave me plenty back before Kijimi.”</p>
<p>“Just didn’t want a repeat of Canto Bight.”</p>
<p>It’s as you’ve joined him and the kid to start walking further down the strip of the marketplace, closer to where the Razor Crest awaits, that you understand the underlying tone. “Excu—hey,” you exclaim, glaring into the side of his helmet, “I did just <i>fine</i> in Canto Bight with that—that criminal. He wanted to charge me ten times as much.” The product in question blazes where it’s resting against your chest, making you wonder if he thinks you wasted your hard-earned money.</p>
<p>“You <i>did</i> do just fine,” Mando agrees as you walk, sweet-smelling meat wafting past your nose. “You still paid more for it than you originally bartered.”</p>
<p>Your brows lower further, almost impeding your line of vision. “Are you—are you implying that I should have bartered…<i>harder</i>?”</p>
<p>The sound of both of your footsteps scraping through the sand beneath your feet is what greets you at first. Then the kid makes some whining noise. Then—”You could’ve stuck to your original goal,” Mando argues, voice neutral behind his vocoder. “Or stayed aligned with what you intended to do when beginning the bargain.”</p>
<p>Your mouth falls into a frown. “Lots of words for someone who hired me as <i>his</i> negotiator.”</p>
<p>His energy warps, you can tell, at the reminder that he <i>hired</i> you. The comment hangs in the dead air all of a sudden, obscuring the atmosphere slightly. You wonder if he’s also thinking of last night, playing it over and over at the back of his brain like a string of moving pictures. Bringing up the fact that you’re, for all intents and purposes, his employee <i>after</i> having fucked you better than anyone ever had is a bit of a sting. To you both.</p>
<p>“Regardless,” he continues, clearly shrugging off the awkward moment, “just an observation. Since you were brought onto my ship for,” he turns his helmet in your direction then, letting the pause sink in, “a certain set of skills.”</p>
<p>Heat trails over you again. Maker, he’s <i>teasing you</i>.</p>
<p>“You’re the one who asked if I was good with words and believed me,” you recall, stopping in front of one kiosk that holds net-fulls of plump fruits. You trade a few credits for one, hooking it onto a strap of your bag.</p>
<p>“I, once again, stand corrected,” he muses, waiting for you to finish paying before striding at your side again. “How did you get into negotiating?”</p>
<p>The inquiry catches you off-guard, you have to admit. Mando doesn’t—well, he <i>never</i> asks questions about you. Other than your first meeting when he’d been as off-putting as possible, he never really tried to get to know anything more about you. Hearing him so openly try puts an odd glow below your ribcage. He’s <i>curious</i>. </p>
<p>“Well, uhm,” you start, a little woozy out the gates, “I’d been on my own for quite some time. Not a lot of worth to my name. I had to make due with what I could, so words were all I had for a while. They’re what put food in my stomach.”</p>
<p>He seems to ponder on this. “You were on your own?”</p>
<p>Your eyes avert again, dipping down to the tan gravel beneath your boots. He’s never asked questions before. You’ve never had to bare yourself in <i>this</i> way. </p>
<p>“Yes, I was on my own,” you return, clearing your throat. Vendors blur past you now, mixing together in your peripherals. You don’t like the idea of pouring yourself out for him, gutting yourself and spilling your entirety onto the streets. Sure, you gave him short insight about your parents back in that hotel room. No more though. So you dodge as expertly as you can. “You haven’t seen me at my best, I’ll admit. Give me a chance to prove that Canto Bight isn’t what you should remember me by.” You muster up as much of a badgering grin as you can, turning your head back to toss it his way.</p>
<p>A low hum is what you receive as his initial response. “Your way with words isn’t what I’ll remember you by, but I’ll keep that in mind.”</p>
<p>The teasing tone he’s suddenly adopted in this conversation is like emotional whiplash. He’s—<i>joking</i> with you but also using his gloved fingers to dig into the space between your bones. How are you to keep up at this point?</p>
<p>“Well, then,” you clear your throat, feeling off, “would you say you’re happy with the choice of bringing me on as your companion?” The question immediately tenses in front of you and you see the layers. You choke with the influx of air you take to immediately fix it. “I mean—before last night. Before, uh—” You cough, face alight. You don’t dare turn to look at him, keeping your eyes strictly forward and your lips pressed into a thin line. <i>Fuck</i>.</p>
<p>A puff of air is released from his helmet. “Before last night,” Mando repeats. He adjusts the kid to rest on his other arm, dodging a stray civilian as they almost run into him. He continues, breezing by your verbal stumbling. “I’d say I’m satisfied with you as my—companion. I appreciate the way you catalogue information. You seem to stow it away for later use.”</p>
<p>This almost stops you in your tracks, but you play it as cool as possible. You manage to nod. “I was always told from a young age that I do too much listening for my own good.”</p>
<p>This gives him pause. “Observing, more like it.”</p>
<p>Somehow, the two of you fall back into a somewhat—<i>stiff</i> silence. It’s unclear why. Maybe the weight of what developed between the two of you has finally caught up, grounded itself into reality. Like you reminded yourself earlier: Mando doesn’t ask questions. This is the first bit of discussion he’s ever really sparked between the two of you and allowed to linger. It would be easy to say that that probably leads into how he <i>won’t</i> (or <i>can’t</i>) ask (or bring up) your evening spent in bed together. </p>
<p>It’s a wonder that he jabs at you with quips about your skills as a negotiator when he doesn’t even have the capacity to incite clarification on what hangs between the two of you.</p>
<p>You’re jumping down a Sarlacc pit in your brain, running through all the possibilities of the awkwardly-tinged silence still swarming you and your Mandolorian. You don’t notice as you’re caught up in your thoughts that a tall display of blasters is suddenly in front of you. You’re breaths away from bumping into it and clattering all the product to the ground when Mando’s hand easily finds yours, tugging you closer to him to assist you in sidestepping the display. The heat of his fingers against yours, curling to grip and maneuver—you can’t help but finally look over at him, the dark T of his visor pointed at you as well.</p>
<p>One, two, three steps later in the marketplace and he allows your hand to drop from his. You can’t ignore the disappointment that simmers low in your belly.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>It’s only <i>after</i> you’ve handfed the little monster one of your newest ripe fruits that he <i>finally</i> conks out. Thank the Maker.<p>You nestle him into the sling strung across the top of Mando’s bunk, smiling down at his peaceful little face and open mouth. Sometimes you think about the bond you’ve created with this weird child and try to decipher it compared to the tension built between you and his father. All of it is too much to consider, however, so you just shut the thought off and leave the kid to rest.</p>
<p>You glance toward the ladder leading to the cockpit. He’s up there now, having just put the two of you in hyperspace to start heading for Batuu per his next bounty. You swallow your pride and grasp a rung to climb up there.</p>
<p>The odd exchange from earlier today has sat with you thick above your collarbone like something lodged in your throat. It’s not—there’s still so much ambiguity around it all. How the two of you got here, if he values you, where all of this is headed, who you are, who he is—it’s not simple to you. It feels heavier than that. Although it shouldn’t, and the small, rational part of you debates that you’re just being paranoid, you know it does. A desire for more clarity is just the start of it. </p>
<p>You haven’t been one to hover in the cockpit since the start of your time on his ship. It always felt like <i>his</i> space. You barely know how to fix this hunk of metal let alone <i>fly</i> it. Sure, you’ve dozed up here a number of times or kept him company in silence when that’s all he knew what to give you. But usually the cockpit is reserved for Mando and Mando alone, in your brain.</p>
<p>This time, you ignore your singed nerves and press the button for the cockpit door to slide open. If he has any reaction to you entering on your own accord, it’s not a visible one. The hatch slides shut behind you as you step inside, moving over to dip into the co-pilot’s chair behind and to the right of him. You don’t say anything.</p>
<p>The light hum of the ship is all that’s heard for a bit. Some clicks and beeps, all indicating the smooth sail into hyperspace is veering ahead. The question of what it is he thinks about up here, all by his lonesome, has always plagued your mind. What about before the kid? When it was just him? Was he—</p>
<p>“You’re quiet,” Mando murmurs into the gravity.</p>
<p>You exhale a little too sharp without meaning to. “Just—thinking.”</p>
<p>Pause. “Cataloguing information?”</p>
<p>That gets a small snort out of you, you admit, and it prompts him enough to turn his chair in your direction. He’s leaning against one armrest, hands folded in his lap. His legs are spread a bit wide in the stance he always props himself in when he’s seated, like he has to prove a point. Which—Maker, it used to intimidate you. Well, it still does. But he’s shown you what’s under the mask in his own intimate way. You know he’s more than just an imposing column of beskar.</p>
<p>“I think you’re a fine negotiator.”</p>
<p>The sudden admission makes you flinch. You didn’t—you didn’t <i>need</i> that from him. You’ve never doubted your abilities, let alone ones that you once depended upon for survival. It’s the fact that <i>he</i> questioned it that put a blaster hit in your side. </p>
<p>You tongue at the space behind your top teeth. “I think so too.”</p>
<p>It’s his turn to exhale a bit too harshly. “Do you?”</p>
<p>This makes your head turn so fast you’re surprised it doesn’t go spinning off your shoulders. Your eyes narrow as he just appears to level you with a gaze, helmet slightly tilted forward. “Excuse me?” </p>
<p>“I also observe,” he goes on, voice behind the modulator giving absolutely nothing away. “You’re—hesitant. When you don’t need to be.”</p>
<p>“If this is about Canto Bight—”</p>
<p>“It isn’t.”</p>
<p>The shrug-off boils your blood that much more. “Then <i>when</i>?”</p>
<p>“Here.”</p>
<p>You’re dumbfounded. Enough to the point that you have no immediate reaction to what he said. You blink a few times before shaking your head a bit, clearing the fog seeping into your eyesight. “What?”</p>
<p>“With me,” he clarifies, voice remaining in that neutral tone he’d also been using in the marketplace on Tatooine this morning. Maker, if there’s ever a time his helmet could be off… “You’ve been hesitant. You stumble. You aren’t nearly as sure of yourself as you should be.”</p>
<p>Tightness constricts your throat but you scrape past it. “I—it’s not like I’ve been given many opportunities to negotiate something for you.”</p>
<p>“You’re right,” Mando gives, a gloved hand moving to smooth down the plate of armor on one of his large thighs. “I don’t just mean when you’re mediating.” At your apparent confusion, he leans forward. It brings him a touch closer to you. “Your Marshal called you a sweet-talker.”</p>
<p>Your mouth is dry. “Yes.”</p>
<p>“And yet…” he trails off, clearly gathering how to say what it is he wants to tell you. “I’ve never seen someone get so flustered when talking to a man they work with as you have.”</p>
<p>Your brain immediately tries to process everything at once. <i>Sweet-talker</i>—<i>flustered</i>—work <i>with</i> not work <i>for</i>—the fact that he’s bolstered this entire conversation—Maker, has he always been <i>this much</i> of a talker and just been withholding?</p>
<p>You can only sputter out what’s at the forefront of your busy mind. “Flustered?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t continue defining anything for you, just stays in that semi-relaxed position in his leather pilot’s chair. You loop back over every interaction you’ve had with him since Nevarro—meeting him, wiring things, waking him up after he’d fallen asleep in the cockpit, getting cold on that snow-blanketed planet, handing off the kid when you’ve gotten too sleepy, being caught in his shirt—oh <i>Maker</i>.</p>
<p>The sound you give as realization dawns over you can only be described as a disbelieving cross between a huff and a laugh. You notice his hand flex into a fist, but he doesn’t stir any other reply to your audible understanding. </p>
<p>So, in a move much more bold than you ever thought possible for yourself, you decide to close the distance between you and him. If you two are going to continue circling each other, dancing around some unspoken boundary line, you’re going to at least do it on your own terms.</p>
<p>The next thing Mando knows, you’re on your feet and sliding into his lap, fitting your bent legs on either side of his cold, metal thigh armor. It’s not entirely comfortable, somewhat difficult, but you settle on his open thighs that soon have the common sense to shift in order to give you more room to work with. A choked noise lilts through his modulator and a dart of satisfaction piques through you. </p>
<p>Your hands settle on the hulking curves of his shoulder plates, the cool steel stinging your fingertips. </p>
<p>“Mando,” you murmur, like a secret, “I’m not some—<i>flustered</i> negotiator. It’s—it’s <i>you</i>.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t vocally respond right away, just cocks his helmet to the side. </p>
<p>“You make me nervous,” you finally admit, forcing the words out in one breath. “You’ve <i>always</i> made me nervous.”</p>
<p>A second muffled sound comes from him, indistinct. “Oh, sweet girl,” he’s breathing, sudden, his gloved hands finding the curves of your hips. A gasp startles from you at the touch. His fingers flatten over the material of your pants, squeezing hard once with his thumbs pressing into your flexors. “Why?” You realize how close you are to him, the helmet only inches from your face.</p>
<p>“Seriously?” you shoot back without hesitation. “Should we be asking me? Or should we go ask the patrons of every establishment we’ve walked into and question why it is they cower from you?” You huff. “Why do you make me nervous,  <i>please</i>, just <i>look</i> at you—”</p>
<p>“They cower in fear,” he clarifies, the warmth of his palms still engulfing you. “You should—I would never hurt you.”</p>
<p>Something unfurls in your chest. “I know,” you respond fiercely, quietly. “I know that. But—you’re literally a walking suit of beskar. You’re known for your ruthlessness, your hunting—come on, Mando, it shouldn’t come as a shock to your system that most people you interact with are going to be somewhat <i>daunted</i> by you.”</p>
<p>He’s silent for a moment. “I never knew you saw me that way.”</p>
<p>You squirm in your straddling position on his lap, feeling a tad unsettled with yourself at having moved into this spot over him. He doesn’t ease up on his grip over your hips, despite the squirming. “I don’t anymore,” you try to assure him. “And I didn’t for very long, I just—”</p>
<p>“I never noticed.”</p>
<p>“I’m good at hiding parts of myself when I need to. <i>Clearly</i> not my humiliation since you translated that into me being a terrible negotiator—”</p>
<p>“Terrible wasn’t the word I used,” he interrupts, sliding one hand from your torso and down your thigh. Your pulse quickens.</p>
<p>“Well—regardless,” you continue, noticing how you’ve left perfect stamps of your fingerprints on his shoulder armor. Damn your clammy hands. “I’m good at what I do. It’s the only thing I’ve known <i>how</i> to do. So, uh, if you’re ever doubting my proficiency I’d rather you tell me then keep it to yourself after two months of being on this ship with you.”</p>
<p>He breathes in, then out, slow. “Okay.”</p>
<p>You nod, the conversation dying. This brings you back to the fact that you’re still in his lap, your legs feeling tingly from their awkwardly-bowed angle. You push down on his shoulders to start climbing off, but his hands on you retaliate and press to keep you where you are. You raise a brow. </p>
<p>“How long have you been doing this?” Mando asks, helmet still aimed your way. Maker, he’s talkative today. “You didn’t give much of an answer on Tatooine.”</p>
<p>You swallow. “You noticed that, huh?”</p>
<p>This he doesn’t warrant with a reply, just stays solid and silent under you.</p>
<p>Your fingers tap restlessly at the steel under your touch, apprehensive toward the notion of revealing more about yourself. It’s not that you want to keep things about yourself hidden, it’s that—you’ve never really told anyone this. About your past. Breath passes your lips in a wobbly stream.</p>
<p>“Fifteen years,” you give him. “Since I was barely a teenager. I learned how to use language to my advantage. Credits were never really at my disposal so I had to get creative.”</p>
<p>His hold on you tightens for a brief second before loosening again. “Were you on your own since then?”</p>
<p>Your gaze flits to the side, finding solace with the flashing lights of different buttons. The gear shift. “Yes and no. Mostly. I—” you exhale. “Yes, but it’s complicated. Either way, I left Jakku at much too young an age to be by oneself and never made it back. After hearing of the awful battle that took place there five years ago I can only assume the worst.”</p>
<p>You understand you can’t be making much sense. You’re telling him your story in fragments, in vague pieces that only you know how to put together for anything to come into focus. And yet he doesn’t push for more, doesn’t demand you help him read between the lines. He just nods, and this gesture he grants you gives you a small surge to continue.</p>
<p>“Jakku was my home,” you tell him, still not returning his gaze through the visor. “I don’t remember much from it, but I was born there and spent my childhood covered in it’s sand.” A part of you wants to smile at this, but you tamper it down. </p>
<p>“You said your parents were from there, not yourself.”</p>
<p>“Sometimes it’s hard to think of it <i>as</i> home,” you tell him, uncertainty marring your storytelling. “When you haven’t been there in as many years as I have. It’s easier to—think of it as something of my parents’.”</p>
<p>“I’ve never seen Jakku as a home planet,” Mando confesses, your eyes returning to him. “It’s always been a place people go—not derive from.”</p>
<p>A weird, dark feeling pulls apart in your stomach. Your brows lower. “What an odd thing to say to someone who just told you it’s their birthplace.”</p>
<p>His fingers flex over their respective spots on you while his shoulders roll back under your hands. “I only meant to say I’ve never met anyone from there. The planet has been broken for years, even before the battle.”</p>
<p>“Broken,” you mirror, something sharp bolting through your arms. You find yourself slightly leaning away from him, hands slipping from their resting place on his armor. “I didn’t realize I had to defend my childhood from you.”</p>
<p>Your name falling from his modulator doesn’t help whatever ugly emotion is burrowing under your skin from this entire discussion. “You don’t, I—” he cuts himself off with an exhale. “Forgive me. That wasn’t my intention. As someone who’s seen what Jakku used to be and is now—I’ve never comprehended what it could mean to somebody.”</p>
<p>You wouldn’t say you’re particularly possessive of the planet you were born on. Sure, it was more your parents’ than your own, but it was still <i>yours</i> in some capacity. Mando certainly couldn’t have guessed what visceral reaction you’d give to having your past combatted, but his blatant shrug-off of your youth has begun eating away at you. You aren’t entirely sure why, but the cockpit is suddenly closing in, getting tighter and tighter at the edges of your vision.</p>
<p>You dart up from his lap before he can stop you stumbling to your feet. You push your hair back from your face. “I’m gonna check on the kid,” you throw at him, over your shoulder. The sight of him turning in his chair to follow you goes unseen by your retreating figure as you smash the button with a closed fist to open the door instead. He says your name, once, through the modulator, sounding cloudy and grey in his mouth.</p>
<p>You ignore it and let the hatch fall closed behind you as you leave.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>Mando is gone for three whole days on Batuu.<p>He’d landed the Crest on the edge of one of the planet’s sprawling forests, not too far from civilization but far enough that you felt safe to be here by yourself with the kid. After the—<i>tense</i> talk in the cockpit, you made yourself busy down in the hull, putting away the supplies you’d purchased and organizing whatever weapons he’d left unattended. He never followed you, never came to seek you out. You took the social cue and kept your distance as well.</p>
<p>When it came time to land so he could get started on finding his most recent quarry, you realized it had been a full half-day of no interaction between you both. And then when he wandered down to the hull to leave, strapping on his jetpack and rifle, he looked over at you. You averted your eyes, chewing on your thumbnail.</p>
<p>“It might take some time to find this one,” he told you, gaze still pointed your way. You nodded. “I’m not sure when I could be back.”</p>
<p>The only response you could manage at the time was a shrug. “We’ll be fine. I stocked up on Tatooine for a reason.”</p>
<p>He made a non-commital noise at that, finishing off his preparations with his ammunition belt and second blaster. You wanted to dispel whatever energy had formed between the two of you, the uneasiness. There were no words that came to mind, however, to fix anything. So you waited, wanting to watch him ready to leave since you weren’t sure when you’d see him again. But you didn’t.</p>
<p>You were standing in the middle, open space of the ship, waiting for his next move. He surprised you by coming right to your front. “You’ll comm if there’s an emergency?” he asked, wanting clarification.</p>
<p>You nodded a second time. “Of course.”</p>
<p>Thickness swirled around you, you felt it. You weren’t sure why you were sticking to your guns like this, planting your feet <i>this</i> hard in the dirt of this mess you made. Maybe it’s because he touched some nerve inside of you that you had yet to confront. Maybe it’s because he really did cross a line with his blatant disrespect of your upbringing. Either way, that grotesque feeling you had when talking to him in the cockpit was still clawing at your insides. Better to let it simmer for a bit before addressing it in the open air.</p>
<p>Suddenly, his hand was there, pushing back your hair and resting at the underside of your jaw. Despite your reservation, breath escaped you. He applied pressure, drawing your eyes to him. You blink as you make contact with the shiny exterior of his helmet.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry to leave you like this,” he then told you, voice soft through the modulator. Your throat closed. “Be safe.”</p>
<p>His gloved thumb brushed over the skin of your cheek once before releasing. He then disappeared down the lowering ramp, not turning to look back once as he walked into the expanse of green forest. Then, with a click on his wrist, he signalled for the ramp to shut behind him once again. </p>
<p>The three days that followed were long, slow, and filled with you trying to entertain the kid in whatever way possible. Luckily, his newest fixation has been the sound of your voice, so you’ve taken to telling him stories as of late. Nothing of importance, just tales you remember your mother whispering to you or myths your father would explain in order to teach you a lesson. Old things, things the kid doesn’t care about but giggles at and falls asleep to.</p>
<p>It’s when you’re alone, staring at the ceiling or into the darkness of the forest from the cockpit, that you turn over every second of your awful exchange with your Mandalorian. Replay it, wonder how it went sour so fast. The only explanation that ever comes to you is, well, yourself. You got defensive, quick and sharp, after giving someone for the first time even a <i>glimpse</i> into why you came to be who you currently are. You didn’t make space for Mando in that; you let him take a peek before immediately snatching it away.</p>
<p>If anything, you feel embarrassed.</p>
<p>Which is what you <i>always</i> feel when near him. It burns your bones. Walking about in a constant air of humiliation around the person you trust with your life is—exhausting. Utterly tiring.</p>
<p>And that’s exactly how you feel on the last night you’re on the ship alone with the kid. You’d both been in the cockpit, watching the three suns of Batuu disappear below the blinking horizon. When it’s two moons were bright and full in the sky, you helped him eat a portion of nuts and crackers as a bedtime snack. Some time later, he was dozing in your lap. You made a little cocoon of blankets for him there, on the pilot’s chair, where Mando would be happy to see him upon returning. </p>
<p>So now, you’re trying to fall asleep yourself in the bunk on the bottom floor of the Crest, hoping whatever you conjure up to say upon his arrival can fix what you brought about. Anxiety tingles the skin of your fingertips.</p>
<p>Well, apparently, you don’t have to wait much longer.</p>
<p>The sound of the ramp opening is startling and sets your skin on fire. <i>Holy Maker he’s back</i>.</p>
<p>You listen as his footsteps disturb the stillness of the hull, echoing against the at-rest machinery surrounding the empty space. The sounds scuffle to a stop for a moment before the groaning of the ramp closing again fills your ears. You hold your breath, wondering if he’s spotted you laying flat in his bunk, not moving.</p>
<p>A swallow lodges in your throat at the indicating noises of him heaving something up, then being solidified in carbonite with a long puff of steam. Your lids squeeze shut.</p>
<p>He starts moving around more, making unrecognizable sounds that you can’t quite pinpoint. A clang, something hitting the floor judging by the movement underneath you, fabric rustling. Then silence again.</p>
<p>You shift a bit in the bunk, restless. A breath passes through his vocoder. </p>
<p>Suddenly, a hand is on the whole of your leg, wrapping around the front of your shin to curl about your calf. You yelp a tad, head shooting up to find Mando’s helmet pointed right at you. He’s somehow made his way to the opening of the bunk, his bulky beskar and broad shoulders taking up the expanse of the access so he’s all you can see. Even amidst your nervous swallowing you’ve been doing the past minute your throat runs dry. </p>
<p>“Hi,” you breathe, unsure.</p>
<p>He squeezes his grip on your skin. “Hello.”</p>
<p>It’s dark still, you’d dimmed all the lights earlier so you could attempt to sleep before he so abruptly made his entrance. There’s enough of a glow for you to see his silhouette, the barest of the shape in his visor. It feels—<i>daunting</i>, to use the word you gave him before, having him stare over you while in this atmosphere. And, Maker betraying you, your body is tightening up.</p>
<p>“The hunt go okay?” you ask quietly, distracting yourself.</p>
<p>He nods his head once, short, hand grazing up a bit to just under your knee. You hate that he’s at your feet, feeling vulnerable at this angle. You shift onto your elbows so you’re not craning your neck to hold your head up. His body sways forward a bit in response.</p>
<p>“Yes,” he gruffs back, low. “I—” He cuts himself off and it feels like a bite.</p>
<p>You wait, wondering if he’s going to finish what he started. He doesn’t.</p>
<p>The hand under your knee presses a bit, his gloved thumb swiping over the curve of it. Your head is spinning. Gah, what were you nervous about before? He’s back and he’s <i>touching</i> you, what very well could—</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he’s suddenly saying, halting your train of thought. “For leaving. Before we—before assuring you.”</p>
<p>An apology isn’t what you expected. If anything, you had meant to be giving one to him. You sit up more, now fully seated. Your legs stay bent in front of you, his hand still warm and rough on your knee. You look up into his helmet, finding solace in the enveloped darkness.</p>
<p>“No, no, I—” you exhale. “I’m good with words. With you I seem to—lose that ability. I’m sorry for retreating when I did. You asked me to share myself with you and instead I closed a door before you could go through it. I’m not—I’m not sure how to—” You give out an agitated huff, brain scrambling. <i>Maker</i>, how does he manage to fluster you like this?</p>
<p>“I said insensitive things,” he continues. You can tell he acknowledged what you said though, as his other hand comes up and finds your opposite knee. A shaky breath escapes you. “The whole time I was out there, looking for—I wanted to turn around and come back to you. Make things right again.”</p>
<p>Your heart clenches. “Mando, I—”</p>
<p>“Back on Tatooine,” he cuts in, clearly needing to say something before losing the nerve to do so. “You said—‘before last night’ about—about your companionship.” That moment feels so many cycles ago but you scrounge about in your brain for it, nodding to confirm you recall the words.  “Even—even before that night,” your name gruffs past his lips in a heat-filled exhale, “you were more to me. Than a companion.”</p>
<p>The acknowledgment of the shift in gravity between you two sends your pulse to zoom off like a speeder across desert sand. He’s <i>bringing it up</i>. Warmth is cascading over your face before you can stop it. He somehow seems to loom closer. </p>
<p>“I felt clarification was necessary,” he finishes, the modulator doing little to cover the gravel crunching in his voice. Maker, it’s like a storm brewing. </p>
<p>There’s silence again as you gather your wayward thoughts.</p>
<p>You widen your bent legs, his hands going with the move from where they’re still perched on your knees, so you can move that much nearer to him. His helmet watches, angled down slightly to where the two of you are still linked, touching. Breath seems unreachable at this point. </p>
<p>“Thank you,” you murmur into the thick pressure around you. “For clarifying.”</p>
<p>He nods once, short. Again. </p>
<p>“If we’re offering up—explanations,” you admonish, gently bringing one hand from the bunk below up to his beskared arm, “I should give one as well.” He waits, the little light you have to see him with shaping his silhouette expertly in front of you. “I don’t—I’m not sure how to navigate this.” When he makes no visible reaction right away, you clear your throat. “With you.”</p>
<p>His fingers fasten over your knees again. “Pretty girl—”</p>
<p>Flames lick over your abdomen at the term of endearment. “I’ve never had to do this before,” you admit, wanting to clench your jaw at spilling further truths. You owe him this after your absurd display in the cockpit the other day, however. “It’s never—gotten to this point.”</p>
<p>He cocks his head to the side. “This point?”</p>
<p>Your hand thrusts in the middle of you and him. “This—point.”</p>
<p>A humming sort of sound comes out of him. Before you can catch up, he glides his hands down the front of your shins to find your ankles. You have just enough time to open your mouth in surprise as he yanks, flattening your back to the bunk yet again and bringing your hips to the edge of it. You grunt on instinct with the impact.</p>
<p>“This point,” he repeats those two words. “What point is that?”</p>
<p>He’s over you again, the vulnerable position he’s returned you to sending a swarm of butterflies through the space beneath your sternum. “The—the after,” you choke out, still reeling from the whiplash. “After—”</p>
<p>“After being fucked,” he gives, sounding more sure of himself then he has this whole conversation. The words make your eyes want to roll back in your head while you garble at his bluntness.</p>
<p>“<i>Maker</i>, Mando, you make it sound so—”</p>
<p>You watch as he uses both hands to find your hips and grip, smothering your sides with his touch. He inches them up, your tunic going with it. The skin below your bellybutton peeks out. “You’ve never made it to the after? With someone before?” he questions, ignoring your babbling. He’s asking for more. More about you, your past. Your halfway aching and halfway <i>annoyed</i>.</p>
<p>A shake of your head gives him an answer. “No, I’ve only ever—”</p>
<p>He gives out a harsh, short growl to cut you off. You’re not sure why—he asked you. His touch gets a bit meaner, scratching his gloved fingers down the swell of your hips, swooping around the back of your thighs to come between your legs. A harsh exhale leaves your nose. “You’ve only ever made it to the after—with me,” he laments, voice rocky, sharp against your ears. </p>
<p>You nod, widening your legs further for him without meaning to.</p>
<p>The noise he emits at your confirmation is hard to describe. You’d think after spending the night together you’d get a clearer read on him, understand his quirks better. If anything you’re more frustrated at his concealment than ever.</p>
<p>Then, he hits the ground—on his knees, between your spread thighs. Your eyes widen as his gloved hands barely hesitate in finding purchase on the waistband of your shorts to tug at. You lift for him, arching your back, so he can start pulling them off and down your legs.</p>
<p>“Only me?” he asks again, dragging your hazy mind back to an old point, like having to turn around to restart a race you don’t remember running in.</p>
<p>“Hmmm?” you hum as you hear fabric thudding. <i>His gloves, his gloves, his gloves</i>—</p>
<p>“Only—” he grounds out, bare hands finding your skin. You mewl at the feel of them, not realizing how depraved you’d been from missing the sensation. “—me?” he finishes, fingers exploring back to the notch at your center.</p>
<p>“Maker, <i>yes</i>, Mando, why—”</p>
<p>“Clarification,” he mutters, the trace of a smile in his voice. You shiver.</p>
<p>When one of his thumbs swipes through your folds, feeling you there, do you wonder how you were so anxious, so <i>uncertain</i> just before this. And with only a few words he’s tampered any worry fluttering about. You moan as he uses your slick to press into your clit, drawing an intent circle there that makes your throat close.</p>
<p>“Have you been tasted before?”</p>
<p>The question knocks the air from your lungs and you’re left gasping. Your head darts up to find him looking straight at you from between your legs, uncovered hand resting atop your clit now, not moving. </p>
<p>If he wants transparency, then— “Y-yes,” you admit. “I—”</p>
<p>“Close your eyes,” he demands before you can finish another truth about yourself. His thumb drags down your slit to find you more wet, his inquiry having zoomed through you like a bullet of heat. He groans at the discovery as one of his beskar-covered shoulders falls into your leg resting beside him. The cold touch of it shocks you, making you release a short whimper.</p>
<p>You give in, squeezing your eyes shut even when you can hardly see him anyway, letting your head fall back against the lumpy pallet below you. Yet, when the sound of his helmet hitting the ground rings out, a galaxy’s worth of nuclear light sets off in your gut, blooming out over every nerve ending in sight. You clench up, hands smacking flat against the bunk walls on either side of you.</p>
<p>His hand lifts away and you whine at the loss, before feeling something familiar brush against you. Then, seconds later, an encompassing and soft weight flutters over your bottom half, concealing Mando between your open thighs. Your eyes pop open.</p>
<p>He took off his cloak to cover you with it, effectively shielding his face.</p>
<p>So he can <i>go down on you</i>.</p>
<p>Before you’re able to grasp the severity of this, the gesture, his hands find the outside of your hips near the swell of your ass and his tongue slides over the swollen warmth of your pussy.</p>
<p>You feel like the sound you make is close to a <i>wail</i>, tumbling out in a mix of shock and bliss. He matches it with a grunt of his own, letting it vibrate against your skin. You scramble for something to grab onto, finding nothing. Your hips jerk up.</p>
<p>He moves, impossibly, closer into your heat, teeth grazing over the bright spot of your clit. You throw your head to the side, unable to harness the burning thrumming through you. And that’s when you <i>feel it</i>—the rough scratch of his face against the sensitive skin surrounding your middle—</p>
<p>His <i>stubble</i>.</p>
<p>The realization of his face, his mysterious, wondrous, guarded <i>face</i>, being pressed into the most intimate part of you sends your body into a freefall. As you jolt under him, he lets one hand slide away from your leg to go up and over, banding his full arm across the expanse of your hips. You keen at the feel of his tongue moving through you, hot and warm and good—</p>
<p>“Mando, Mando, I—”</p>
<p>He eases back, letting a finger melt into you, soft and long. There’s no resistance and you simmer at the fact that he’s rocketed you this far up.</p>
<p>“How many?” he’s suddenly breathing against you. You despise the fact that you can’t see his face as he implores this, wondering what’s drawing him to this question. “How many have tasted you before?”</p>
<p>You shake, his thumb rubbing into your neglected clit. “I—I don’t—”</p>
<p>Your name gripes past his lips, dark and suffocating. A rational part of you wishes to push why he’s interested in this, why he needs to know. But the part of you that’s desperate for his mouth back on your cunt wins out, so you throw your head back while your hips lift into his touch, eager for more. </p>
<p>“<i>Maker</i>, I don’t know—” you yelp, “<i>three</i>?”</p>
<p>After this, you’ll know you told the truth. You didn’t deceive in the moment, although a part of you will wish you had. A deep rumble moves out from what sounds like his chest, his forehead falling to the flat skin above your mound. He doesn't stop his touch at your clit and if anything starts pressing harder, turning faster circles about it.</p>
<p>“<i>Dirty girl</i>,” he blazes back at you, his nose dipping into the top of your slit, tongue barely flickering over your sensitive hood. His fingers are still working at you, substituting for his glorious mouth. You pivot your hips up, hoping to move his lips back where you want them. “You get me so fucking wor—”</p>
<p>“<i>Mando</i>,” you groan, knocking a fist into the bunk below you. “Please, please, it feels so—”</p>
<p>He’s already abiding, returning to your pussy with a fervor, a renewed <i>energy</i>. He gets your clit right where he wants it, swirling between his teeth, making an absolute mess of you. Everything feels so slick, so <i>wet</i>, between your thighs, and you drown in the radiant wave overtaking you. Two of his fingers find your entrance, pulling your folds apart there to lick indecently up inside you. Maker, <i>fuck</i>, he’s liquifying you from the inside out.</p>
<p>As you roll up to meet his touch, rocking yourself higher and higher into the impending tide about to engulf you, your hands make an unconscious decision. They slide under the cloak to find his hair, curling about the tendrils suddenly at your use.</p>
<p>And holy shit does he <i>react</i>.</p>
<p>The moan he releases echoes through your pussy, your walls clamping down hot and tight at the sensation. Pair that with the feel of his thick locks under your fingers, winding around your knuckles, tips digging into his scalp and everything catapults. His <i>hair</i>. You’re <i>touching it</i>. An ache blossoms from your chest down to meet the rising frenzy near your womb. His own hands grip harder at the undersides of your thighs, holding you open that much wider for him.</p>
<p>“Mando, Mando—”</p>
<p>He nuzzles harder into you, suckling at your clit, and the dam breaks.</p>
<p>You come with a snap, back bowing and neck arching. He follows the curve of your body, lifting his shoulders as you do so he can keep his mouth on you, help you through the current pulling you away. Your eardrums pop and sizzle and your jaw drops without your permission. Maker, you feel it at the base of your <i>spine</i>.</p>
<p>As it fades away, letting you return to shore, and your back meets the pallet again, do you feel him dragging his tongue through your throbbing folds, sweet and idle. You let out a small hum, eyes slipping shut as you wade in the afterglow.</p>
<p>When he pulls away, your hands slipping out of his hair (that you <i>touched</i>, which you’re <i>still</i> not over), you hear him pull in a long inhale. Then, beskar clangs against beskar, and the cloak shifts over your legs. </p>
<p>He put his helmet back on. </p>
<p>This time, you give a whine, wishing for the opposite.</p>
<p>Mando gets back to his feet, out from under the cloak still blanketing you. He looks down at you, striking and magnificent, sending your whole being into a spiel once more. You smile hazily through the surrounding fog near the edges of your vision. “You’re beautiful,” you murmur out of nowhere, unaware you were going to.</p>
<p>He seems taken aback, his fingers coming up to push against your limp wrist resting on your stomach. “You don’t know what you’re saying, sleepy girl,” he returns, voice ragged but shot through with warmth. Maybe it’s your post-orgasm hormones talking, but he seems awfully pleased with himself.</p>
<p>“I’m gonna look in on the kid,” he tells you, running a thumb over the length of your forearm. Oh, hey, his gloves are still off. “You should rest.”</p>
<p>“<i>You</i> should rest,” you strike back, meaning it, though your voice is full of syrup.</p>
<p>He shakes his head, something low and familiar coming out of the modulator—a <i>chuckle</i>. Damn if he’s making it hard not to rip this lethargic atmosphere apart so you can jump his bones. How can a man wearing the galaxy’s most impenetrable armor be so infuriatingly <i>cute</i>?</p>
<p>“I’ll be back to check on you after we’re in hyperspace,” he says before taking a step toward the ladder.</p>
<p>Your eyes flutter to start closing but you force words out of your mouth first. “Also, hey—I thought <i>you</i> were going to claim <i>my</i> mouth <i>next time</i>?” you toss his way, tone equal parts tired and dramatic.</p>
<p>He gives another laugh, this one burying straight into the center of you. No answer is given before you hear his boots beat upon each rung of the ladder where he disappears into the cockpit.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>You and the kid are mulling over some beautiful, dangly wind chimes when Mando returns from his meeting with Karga. After Batuu it was time to trade the pucks in for credits, so your trio made your way back to Nevarro for just that. You hadn’t been back here since Mando first hired you. It feels like a whirlwind to kick through the black sand under your feet again.<p>“Find something interesting?” your Mandalorian asks, stopping next to you in the trinket-filled side of the marketplace you’ve been exploring with the kid. The wind chime in front of you flutters in the warm breeze, making sweet, tinkling sounds. The kid coos in response.</p>
<p>“Just pretty things,” you return, smiling down at the bundle of brown and green in your arms. He garbles back at you. “He's been entranced by noises recently.”</p>
<p>Mando hums. “One more stop, then we can go back to the ship.”</p>
<p>You nod, turning to follow him as he angles himself toward another strip of shops to your left. One hand casually rests on his blaster as he walks, his helmeted gaze wandering around on either side of you both. You quirk a brow. Maker, he never eases up. </p>
<p>Luckily for <i>you</i>, ever since his return to the Crest on Batuu, the energy between you and him has—softened. You haven’t gone back to the topic of it, expanded it or defined anything, but at least you’re both <i>somewhat</i> on the same page again. He hasn’t mentioned your childhood or beginnings as a negotiator and you’ve kept in mind how you shouldn’t have such rough edges when he asks questions. It’s been—lovely.</p>
<p>After peaceful quiet while walking to who-knows-where, Mando directs you to a shop on your immediate right. He reaches around you to pull open the door and you thank him with a silent smile. As you step in you feel his gloved hand ghost the clothed surface of your lower back.</p>
<p>You almost stumble on your next foot forward but catch yourself just in time.</p>
<p>He follows you into the interior of the shop, which is very clearly a seller of weapons. Blasters, rifles, bowcasters of all shapes and sizes line the walls, ammunition displayed on tables in neat columns. You didn’t realize he was in need of new artillery, yet here you are.</p>
<p>You stand just behind him as he approaches the Mythrol getting to his feet at a low counter. He has gilled skin that’s a dusky pink with big ears on either side of his head. Mando once told you that he had just finished hunting a Mythrol with blue skin right before he encountered the kid. Huh.</p>
<p>“Afternoon,” the seller says, standing wide with his hands outstretched. “How can I help you folk?”</p>
<p>Mando relaxes into a stance with one hip out, weapon on full display. “I’m interested in having you make three blasters for me. One carbine and two pistols.”</p>
<p>The Mythrol grunts, shifting his position into arms-crossed over his chest. He nods shortly. “All right. Any specific requests?”</p>
<p>You drown out the gun-talk, not particularly interested in this topic of conversation. The kid is tugging at your hair anyway, demanding attention for a moment, so you glance his way and run a hand over his head. He makes some sort of comforted noise in reaction and you grin, before you hear a word in the discussion beside you that makes you turn your head back to it.</p>
<p>“...isn’t the price given to me by sellers in the past,” Mando is saying, voice firm through the modulator. A shiver zips down your spine at the sound of it. </p>
<p>The Mythrol shrugs. “Don’t know what to tell you. That’s the offer on the table, take it or leave it.”</p>
<p>Your Mandalorian takes a slight step forward but you do so yourself before he can, tapping a hand to his arm. “What’s the problem?” you ask, feeling heat radiate from him the minute his helmet gleams your way.</p>
<p>“Your guy doesn’t seem to want to pay what I’m asking for.”</p>
<p>You look at the Mythrol, hoping it shows in your hard stare that the question hadn’t been aimed at him. But you decide to throw him a bone. “And what are you asking for in payment?” you inquire.</p>
<p>“1500 credits.”</p>
<p>The shock that catapults through you must register on your face—how could it <i>not</i>? The Mythrol’s lips make a slight upturn, smug, at whatever expression you’ve donned in reply to his bartering. Before Mando is probably ready, you pass off the kid to him and come closer to the seller. </p>
<p>“That’s pretty pricey for three blasters,” you remark, tilting your head to the side.</p>
<p>“It’s what’s fair.”</p>
<p>“Fair?” you question. “Explain it to me then. How come the price has skyrocketed so much? Last I checked, weaponry wasn’t carrying such a hefty tag as of late.”</p>
<p>“If you wanna talk about skyrocketing, sweetheart,” you <i>bristle</i> at the sudden term, “let’s talk about trading prices. Parts for blasters don’t come cheap. Ask any post from here to the Unknown Territories.”</p>
<p>You shouldn’t feel as pleased as you do when he punches back with that, but you certainly feel your heart knock up a bit. You haven’t experienced a good negotiation in awhile—the satisfaction of getting what you desire out of a deal, the information you know you store, that adrenaline from a <i>fight</i>. Maker, it feels like scraping the rust off an old speeder to reveal the shiny shit underneath.</p>
<p>Plus, you’ve succeeded at this before. This repugnant amphibian won’t be the last, certainly, to attempt to rub your face in insight he assumes you don’t have. Because of your appearance, individuals, mostly men, are inclined to believe you don’t know what you’re talking about. Which is why you were so surprised when Mando hit the nail on the head the other day on Tatooine—you <i>do</i> catalogue information. Anything that’s useful that comes your way can be turned into collateral, regardless of how important or significant it may seem at the time. </p>
<p>And this Mythrol, plus so many other arrogant individuals of the male-species that have come before, can shove that right up their ass. </p>
<p>“Funny,” you return, tone turning up a bit in a slightly mocking twitch. “We happened to be on Castilon not that long ago. Past month or so, even. The Colossus post there is usually brimming with knowledge about fluctuating markets.” You cross your arms over your chest, mirroring his stance. “We purchased a blaster there from a very kind gentleman for only—hm, 200 cred. How come you’re practically doubling the price for three?”</p>
<p>The seller tongues at the side of his mouth. You don’t notice this at the time, but Mando is practically nonexistent. Stepped off to the side, loitering near the edges of the conversation, letting you tighten your grip on the reins.</p>
<p>In what appears to be a surge of confidence, the Mythrol scoffs and stands a bit taller, even when he’s clearly at your height. “I give good prices for what I produce,” he claims, voice as solid as he’s attempting to make it despite your clear show of contradiction. </p>
<p>“I’m sure you do,” you allow. “But why scam a couple of good folk out of extra cred when they’re willing to pay the correct amount for it?”</p>
<p>Here, the Mythrol <i>snarls</i>. The change to indignation would’ve startled you had you not been prepared for it, knowing situations like this can turn ugly fast. You have to steel for anything. “<i>Good folk?</i>” the seller spits. “If you haven’t noticed, sweetheart, you’re running around with a Mandalorian, who’s probably killed more—”</p>
<p>You drop your hands to the surface of the counter in front of you, leaning forward and into his space. He snaps his jaw shut and inches away, eyes widening a tad at your bold move to enter his personal atmosphere. </p>
<p>“He makes due to get by,” you give back in a wildfire of sharp words and narrowed eyes. “Are you going to criminalize that by then charging him extra for what he <i>needs</i> to make a living?” </p>
<p>The Mythrol licks his lips, narrowing his eyes to match yours. “I have to make due, too.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” you agree, not dropping the unyielding pitch to your voice. “We all do. That doesn’t mean I’m going to let you deceive—”</p>
<p>“Deceive,” the seller scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Listen, sweetheart—”</p>
<p>You shoot an arm out and grab hold of the collar of his coveralls, yanking his face closer to yours. He smells like seaweed and smoke. He gives out a yelp of shock, eyes widening further and mouth propped open in surprise. </p>
<p>“Don’t <i>fucking</i> call me that,” you snap. “I’m not your sweetheart.”</p>
<p>Before he can retaliate while breathing the same air as you, you shove him backward with the fist enclosed around his wadded collar. He rights himself quickly, face warping into a mixture of agitation and trepidation. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he huffs, lower, which makes you wonder if he didn’t mean for you to hear it.</p>
<p>“My mother’s dead,” you retort flatly. The sound of Mando’s armor clanking into something trails past your ears from behind you. You return your arms to the tightly crossed position over your chest. “So, what’ll it be?”</p>
<p>He juts out his lower jaw. “What’ll what be?”</p>
<p>“Either give us the correct listing price for these blasters, as agreed, or we walk,” you propose. He starts to argue, you can tell, but you cut back in. “And everyone on Nevarro hears about your less-than agreeable hospitality.” You tip your head to the side, pulling up as condescending of a smile as you can. “<i>Sweetheart</i>.”</p>
<p>There’s a tense silence, stocky in the air, as the Mythrol clearly ponders over his options. He curls his mouth angrily, looking from you, to Mando, who’s still out of sight, then back again. His tongue flicks out briefly. </p>
<p>“Fine,” he grits, at last.</p>
<p>You put out a hand. “Shake on it.”</p>
<p>One of the seller’s eyebrows darts up. “What is this, a gentleman’s agreement?” He flails a hand in rejection. “Unnecessary. My word is as good as—”</p>
<p>“Fuck your word,” you hit back, stretching your arm closer over the counter toward him. “I don’t trust you one bit. <i>Shake on it</i>.”</p>
<p>As the Mythrol grunts before conceding, sliding his grip into yours for a firm handshake, you hear the unmistakable sound of a snicker come from Mando at your back. The sound, feeling of pure molten lava, pours over you ‘til your skin feels like a glowing northstar. You grin, slipping your hand from the Mythrol’s a second later. </p>
<p>“Lovely doing business with you,” you nod before turning on your heel.</p>
<p>The sight of Mando, lounging back against a glass case filled with some kind of weaponry, the kid casually resting in the crook of one arm, sends another meteor of warmth dashing across you. You can’t see his face (when can you <i>ever</i>) but the impressed air he’s exuding feels a thousand times brighter than when you’d been in Canto Bight with him. The notch up in your ego settles happily behind your sternum as you smile up at him. </p>
<p>“I’ll take the kid outside for some air,” you tell him, reaching out to grab the little green bean from his grip. The gratification isn’t masked on your face, you know, so your armor-clad companion must be getting quite the eyeful of your blatant smugness. “You finish up in here.”</p>
<p>Mando nods, once. “Good job, <i>sweetheart</i>,” he murmurs, low into the vocoder, only for you to hear. It snatches your breath, but you leave the moment to simmer as you head back outside to get away from the nasty pink-skinned extortionist who calls himself an arms dealer. </p>
<p>A short amount of time passes before Mando rejoins you where you’re squatted in the sand to watch the kid draw mindless blobs in it with his little claws. You laugh each time he looks at you, proud, waiting for your validation of his artistry.</p>
<p>“The deal’s been made,” Mando tells you and you grab the kid, returning to your feet. You’re still burning with unfettered satisfaction. “That was a sight to behold.”</p>
<p>You raise a brow, feeling more bold than ever before. “Sweet-talker, yeah?”</p>
<p>He huffs, the trace of a laugh. “Let’s get back to the ship. We have a longer journey ahead.”</p>
<p>“Where to?”</p>
<p>“Inner Rim.”</p>
<p>Oh. Well—you haven’t been there with him yet. Thinking back on it you’ve only been as far as the Mid Rim while a part of the Razor Crest, and even before that hadn’t been out of the Outer Rim since you were a teenager. Excitement suddenly licks up your spine—<i>you’re going somewhere new</i>.</p>
<p>“Wow,” you say out loud instead of the jumbled mess in your head. “Must be a big bounty.” Especially for him to be willing to travel that far.</p>
<p>“It’s invaluable.”</p>
<p>The implication of his words has you shifting your gaze to his, scrunching your brows low over your eyes. He doesn’t make any audible reaction to your curious stare and just moves forward, sliding his hand into yours.</p>
<p>Your eyes widen as he tugs, getting your feet moving on top of the black sand beneath you. The kid makes some whining noise, smiling and waving his arms around. Thrill pulses through you at the feel of Mando’s fingers gripping yours. He’s holding your hand, <i>in public</i>, where everyone can witness one of the galaxy’s most feared warriors, being <i>affectionate</i>.</p>
<p>Maker help you, you’re spiraling with joy. </p>
<p>His hand stays curled around yours as the two of you make your way back through the stretch of shops toward the ship. He doesn’t drop it ‘til you’ve ascended the ramp and are safely tucked inside, his helmet never turning your way to acknowledge the display.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>The trip to your next destination <i>was</i> a long one. Mando wasn’t kidding.<p>Time passes differently when you’re stuck on the Crest—you could be in space for one whole day and it’ll feel like an entire week depending on how the kid is acting up or, in the past, if Mando would’ve chosen to seek you out for conversation. </p>
<p>Which, before, he rarely did.</p>
<p>This time, on the ride through hyperspace to get to whatever planet his next bounty is on, he came down into the main hull after setting course. It was a nice surprise to have him sit and watch over you as you played with the kid. He didn’t pester or ask any further digging questions like he had however many days ago in the cockpit—he just sat on the edge of the bunk, observed, and laughed whenever the kid would fall over, accidentally scratch at you with his pointy fingers, or babble and run away from you to make you chase him. </p>
<p>During the first day or so of travel he did leave you to your own devices, and you listened as he reloaded weapons and organized what ammunition he needed. He also spent time putting the Carbonite machine through a cleaning cycle. Watching him do such—domestic, normal things while clad in beskar-armor was always such a weird trip. This was no different.</p>
<p>The next day he shared a meal with you and the kid, which he also never used to do, and the two of you amusedly watched the small monster try to feed himself. He even took over babysitting duties so you could scrub off in the cleanser, giving you a few precious moments to yourself. </p>
<p>Later, when you would estimate that it was sometime in the middle of the night and you were <i>still</i> travelling, Mando and you sat on the ground in front of his bunk while you told some old story to the kid. </p>
<p>Since your talking voice seems to be one of the few things that puts him to sleep nowadays, you’ve had to forage your brain for new tales to spin every time you’re trying to wind him down. While seated next to your steel-enforced companion and his weird little green child, you decide to relay the fable your mother used to tell you about a mysterious magic called the Force.</p>
<p>She always told it differently, you remember. Sometimes the Force could move things—like the one where a little boy stopped a ball being thrown his way. Your mother said she had witnessed that with her own eyes. Of course, your mother was eccentric until she wasn’t, so you always pitted it down to her flair for the dramatics. Or she would say how the Force could heal, which always sounded too much like a fairytale for it to ever be reality. She once told you a grand story of some light-filled warrior getting wounded in battle and how his star-crossed lover pushed her way to him to mend his sliced skin. You recall blinking up at her, smiling, hoping for a love one day where someone left war to restore your power. </p>
<p>It was as you were discussing the boy with the ball, using your hands to paint a vivid picture while the kid jabbered at you in response, that Mando shifted beside you. You looked over at him, unsure, but he didn’t make any other reaction to your tale. He was also pointedly looking at the kid, not you, so you decided to ignore it, returning to your theatrical retelling. </p>
<p>Luckily, the storytime session seemed to have done the trick, and the kid was finally drifting off after the adventure through fantasy. You kept him tucked against your stomach as your head fell to Mando’s shoulder. </p>
<p>You heard him take in a short inhale before clearing his throat. “Tired?” he gruffed, hand gripping over his own knee where it was bent up in front of him. </p>
<p>A nod is all you gave him in response.</p>
<p>The hand meandered over to your leg then, squeezing gently around the whole of your thigh. “Sleep,” he then said. “I’ll wake you when we’re arriving.”</p>
<p>You’ve always wondered when it is that <i>he</i> sleeps. Thinking back on it, the only time you’ve ever actually <i>witnessed</i> him resting was in the hotel room on Tatooine, when you’d been blindfolded. He had absolutely slept, you remember, given that he snored a few times. Which was such an adorable development about him that you won’t linger on it too long lest the warmth in your chest burst. </p>
<p>Mando let you snooze against his shoulder, something that felt so soft and intimate, until he needed to go up to the cockpit to check on the hyperdrive. He gently lifted your head to indicate his move, and you took the cue, letting him slip up from the floor. You dropped your head back against the entrance to the bunk, giving a low noise to let him know you were displeased with his leaving. He just gave another one of his huffy laughs before disappearing.</p>
<p>Now, you’re not sure how much time has passed, again, when you feel a gloved hand on the side of your face. You blink your eyes open, immediately feeling the crick in your neck from sleeping with it craned back. You can’t help but groan.</p>
<p>His chuckle meets your ears. “All right?”</p>
<p>“Why did you let me sleep like this?” you complain, half-joking, lifting your head to start rolling it around on your shoulders. “Maker, that was a bad idea.”</p>
<p>“Didn’t want to disturb you.”</p>
<p>As you begin stretching out your limbs from the awkward position you had been in, do you realize the kid is no longer with you. You glance up, still trying to wipe the fog from your eyes, to see Mando cradling him to his side while towering over you.</p>
<p>“How long was I out?” you question, pushing to your feet. Oof, you’re woozy.</p>
<p>“Half a day.”</p>
<p>Your eyes bug out from your head as you whip around, glaring his way. “Why did you let me sleep for <i>that long</i>?” you echo part of your earlier question, shaking your head. “Maker—”</p>
<p>“You needed it,” he explains, unshaken. “We’re going to be doing a lot of walking today and I wanted to make sure you rested when you could.”</p>
<p>At this, you freeze. Your heartbeat ricochets into your eardrums. “We—<i>we’re</i> doing a lot of walking today?” You swallow. “Am I leaving the ship with you?” </p>
<p>He’s granted you such freedoms on planets where he wasn’t necessarily hunting, but if you’ve arrived on one where he <i>is</i> searching for a quarry, this is unexpected. You feel giddy suddenly, wringing your hands in anticipation to explore somewhere you haven’t been with him yet. </p>
<p>He just hums as confirmation. “There’s an Outpost I figured we could head to for supplies.”</p>
<p>You instantly start preparing for a day off the ship, going into the refresher to rinse out your mouth, changing your clothes to sturdier pants and boots like Mando recommended, plus a longer sleeved tunic. When you exit, he’s holding out the headwrap for you that you had purchased on Tatooine. You take it from him, quirking a brow. </p>
<p>“You’ll need it,” is all he says and you notice the kid is bundled in his bag, the only part of him you can see peeking out from the flap being his big green ears. </p>
<p>“Where are we?” you ask then, looping the wrap around your neck.</p>
<p>He doesn’t answer, just gives another hum, before turning around to walk the short length of the ship toward the ramp. You scrunch your brows at his secrecy but follow nonetheless, securing the wrap around your hair as you do.</p>
<p>There’s a <i>thump</i> from his fist hitting the button to open the large hatch and then, within moments, you see <i>it</i> as the slope of the ship descends.</p>
<p>Sand.</p>
<p>Not dark like the floor of Nevarro, intermittent with red spirals of lava. Nor like the orange expanse of Tatooine, rough and hot. No—brown, white, yellow. No matter where you look it feels like it’s multiple shades, different hues, a reflection of the bright sun beating down onto it. You feel the heat of the day hit you as the ramp clunks to the ground but you hardly feel it over the wonderful, pulsing sensation dripping over you, starting from your head and reaching your toes. You can’t help but stare open-mouthed at what’s before you: the landscape you’ve seen in your dreams countless times but haven’t been able to view in person in hundreds of cycles. Then your vision blurs with the onslaught of tears, stinging the back of your eyes quickly. </p>
<p>He brought you to Jakku.</p>
<p>He brought you <i>home</i>.</p>
<p>Before you can do anything else, your body makes the decision instead and stumbles a foot forward. Instinctually, you follow the command of it, stepping into the thrashing wind of the desert. You’re prone to do nothing but eagerly drink in the curves of the dunes, the shapes of the hills. Re-memorize it all over again. </p>
<p>You haven’t been here in—Maker, fourteen years? The last time your footprints impacted Jakku’s dry earth you were nothing but a child, a lost little thing unsure of her future with hardly anyone to turn to. </p>
<p>As the front of one boot dips into the coarse terrain off the ramp, you feel a swell of affection overcome you.</p>
<p><i>He did this for you</i>.</p>
<p>You stand, awestruck, in the sand for another brief second before you turn your head back over your shoulder to find him. He’s still at the top of the ramp, watching you, hip out with arms crossed over his chest. Heat blooms over your face.</p>
<p>“You—Mando, you—” falls out of your mouth, unsure what you’re even trying to say.</p>
<p>He doesn’t say anything himself, just starts walking toward you down the ramp, watching your face the whole time. You swallow, throat feeling thick. How can you even begin to thank him? What gratitude exists at this volume? Whatever you feel throbbing through you is more than appreciation. It—all that hits you is a fuzzy memory from long ago. </p>
<p><i>It speaks worlds into existence</i>.</p>
<p>Unsure of what else to do, you launch yourself forward and into his atmosphere, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pressing your cheek to the cold side of his steel helmet. </p>
<p>You’ve never done this before. <i>Hugged</i> him. With it being considered such a casual, friendly gesture, the move feels monumental in the moment. It takes him a beat to meet you in the middle, but after a few seconds he responds, hands finding your waist and squeezing lightly. It gives you a head rush.</p>
<p>Soon, you pull back, connecting your gaze with his as best you can. Your hands slide down his beskar-covered shoulders, coming to rest at his chest plates. “Thank you,” you give him, feeling slightly breathless. Maker, you can’t place the emotion thrumming over you. It’s making your fingertips tingle. “I—I can’t believe—”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome,” he gruffs, sounding heavy in his mouth as well. “It—I didn’t know how else to make sure you knew that—I understand why Jakku is important to you. Regardless of its place in the galaxy.”</p>
<p>You nod, clearing your throat. “It’s—I don’t have words.”</p>
<p>You step back, letting your touch fall from his armor. There’s rustling and you look down as the kid pokes his head out from under the flap of the bag strung around Mando, his big ears making you smile. He coos.</p>
<p>“Should we get moving?” you ask.</p>
<p>He nods, tilting his head eastward. “The Niima Outpost is that direction. There are some sellers there I thought we could get rations from before returning here for the night.” You can tell he’s unsure what to do with his body after your blatant display of affection, reminiscent of his refusal to look at you after holding your hand on Nevarro. Part of you feels smug knowing you manage to throw him off-kilter where other parts wish he’d reach out to you with more confidence.</p>
<p>Then you have to remind yourself that this is all forgein to him as well. Or, at least, you assume it is.</p>
<p>“Lead the way,” you grin, excitement tugging at your nerve-endings. Knowing that the sand beneath your feet is sand your parents once walked on—it’s enough to quell any doubts you have about you and Mando. For now.</p>
<p>And so, you walk.</p>
<p>He’s right. It’s a <i>lot</i> of walking. He didn’t park close to any location despite having decided to go to one Outpost specifically. Maybe he wanted you to trek through the desert so you could do it all again for the first time since you were a teenager. Allow you to map over the terrain while on your journey, eyes peeling over every square inch stretching out on endless sides of your trio. Either way, you’re grateful for the time and the view. The sand is filling some invisible hole in your chest you didn’t realize was there—one dividing you from the significance of your old life.</p>
<p>At one point you pass near the hulking expanse of an <i>enormous</i> Star Destroyer halfway out of the sand, worn down by however much time. You can’t help looking over it, shock covering you. “Eerie,” you mutter out loud, shoulders shaking. “That’s <i>eerie</i>.”</p>
<p>Mando looks over it as well, not nearly as impressed as you are. “Must be what’s left of the Empire on the planet.”</p>
<p>You glance his way. “You don’t think they’re still out there?”</p>
<p>The hesitation he gives you tastes funny on your tongue. There’s sweat gathering on your brow from the bright sun and you wipe it off as you wait for his response. “They are,” he finally replies, “still out there. I’ve seen it firsthand.”</p>
<p>Your brows shoot up. “You’ve <i>seen</i> what’s left of the Empire?”</p>
<p>He nods and starts walking again, turning his back to the Star Destroyer. The confirmation and discovery leaves you hollow but you hustle after him, noting the tracks you’ve both left in the sand. You wonder what he means by that admission—has he been at an old base? Has he seen stormtroopers? Ships from the Empire? The lack of clarification doesn’t sit well with you but you push it aside, wanting to enjoy your time here without his mysterious adventures hanging over your head.</p>
<p>At the Outpost you find yourself entranced by the other people milling about. This specific location doesn’t feel familiar—there’s nothing recognizable that you can see. Everyone walking about is dressed in dark and light browns. A few of them smile at you as you pass and you try to recall how friendly people on Jakku were when you were younger and a native of here. Unfortunately, like most parts of your upbringing that aren’t related to your parents, you can’t seem to put the hazy pieces together. It’s all one big blob that tastes like your past, but doesn’t feel like an actual memory.</p>
<p>You and Mando find a few things to stay the night plus extra belongings you’ve been meaning to get. Tuanulberries, knockback nectar, a few more blankets, polystarch flour, some sticks of soap—he even kept quiet about you spending an extra credit or two on a bar of stuff you’ve heard is sweet and dark and melts on your tongue. </p>
<p>The walk back is gray as the sun starts to hang lower and lower in the sky, painting the horizon and sand the color of metal. The changing colors of the landscape is something you don’t know if you’ll be able to really get over since one thing that’s always stuck in your brain is your mother’s vivid retellings of the hues of her home. <i>Jakku’s Wonders</i>—as she called the self-created phenomenon.</p>
<p>Once you’re back at the Crest, the sun is still going down, but not quite below the far off distance line where the sand meets the sky yet. Around the ship you can see the moon coming up on the other side, bigger than any moon you’ve ever seen. But you may just be romanticising your childhood planet.</p>
<p>Mando keeps the ramp open as you both sit on some crates, the kid finding a place in your lap so you can feed him a few of the berries. He smacks his lips at the taste, immediately yammering to declare he wants more.</p>
<p>You laugh. “Eager little thing.”</p>
<p>Your boss chuckles off to the side, leaning back against a wall of the ship while perched on his seat. You flit your eyes to him, his relaxed posture sending a softness through your tummy. And yet, your brows lower as you realize—</p>
<p>“Are you gonna eat?” you ask. You head nod to the bag of food you had purchased together. “There’s plenty to go around.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t reply right away, just cocks his head to the side. “I will. Later.”</p>
<p>You frown. “Mando, I can turn around, I don’t want to stop you from—”</p>
<p>“I want you and the kid to eat first,” he cuts in, shaking his head once with a single jerk. His shoulders suddenly seem more tense. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.”</p>
<p>Dead silence hangs in the air after that and you look down to where the kid is smashing a berry in between his fingers, making a right mess of himself. It brings a wry smile to your lips in spite of the weirdness you feel at having tapped some nerve of Mando’s again. You pick up a different berry and pop it in your mouth, the tart taste blooming out over your teeth.</p>
<p>“Does any of this look familiar to you?” he suddenly asks, out of the blue. His voice through the modulator sounds low and temperate.</p>
<p>You glance back up at him as the kid shifts on your lap, stuffing his fingers in his mouth. “The sand does,” you tell him, looking at the dunes just off the ramp. “I don’t recall the Outpost we went to. But it—” you return your gaze to him again. “You know how something just <i>feels</i> like an element from your past? You don’t—you don’t <i>recognize</i> it, but there’s like a wave of sentiment that overcomes you? Bringing you back to a starting point you can’t remember being at in the first place?”</p>
<p>He’s quiet after your line of questioning, staring at you through the helmet. The kid makes a gentle belch in the midst. You let him grab hold of your finger with one clawed hand. </p>
<p>“Yes,” he finally answers, brusque and warm. “We all have pasts we long to remember.”</p>
<p>This sends you reeling and you open your mouth to ask for more (for <i>clarification</i>) when the kid smashes something wet onto your skin. You look down, releasing a sharp exhale at the berry painting a streak of color across the back of your hand. “Kid,” you sigh, getting to your feet, “you really are gonna be the death of me.”</p>
<p>You leave Mando to sit just inside the open ramp by himself for a moment, walking deeper into the ship to bring the kid over to his sling atop the bunk. You set him down in it before going over to your box of makeshift supplies you managed to stowaway on here, dropping more berries into a small bowl you find at the bottom of it.</p>
<p>“Here,” you smile, “if you wanna make a mess please do it on yourself. I’ll be back to clean you up later.” You press a kiss to his wispy green head and he babbles incoherently at you before stuffing more berries into his little mouth.</p>
<p>Upon returning to sit back down beside Mando, you see that a chunk of the bread you’d left atop the bag of food is missing. His helmet is in place, not askew, but you know he indulged himself and finally <i>ate something</i>. You smile but don’t point it out, slipping onto your crate and leaning back on your palms to gaze out over the sand again. </p>
<p>“You didn’t have to do this,” you tell him, trying to ingrain whatever you can from whatever you can see. “I wasn’t—expecting something like this from you.”</p>
<p>He hums. “You’ve been travelling with me for over two months and have never asked to go somewhere. It was due.”</p>
<p>Your lips widen further until you’re full-on grinning. “You must like me a lot to traverse all the way into the Inner Rim just because of an awkward conversation.” This is the most courageous you’ve been when trying to openly tease him, other than your quips back in Mos Pelgo after you’d finished—well, fucking. You’re not sure where this bold demeanor is coming from, but you decide to ease into it instead of knocking it away like you usually do. </p>
<p>His helmet angles your way at the audacious claim. “You assume a lot.” Despite the meaning of the words, his tone is light.</p>
<p>You shrug. “I catalogue information and go from there. My opinion of you is your own doing.”</p>
<p>He gives out a huff, the one that borders on a laugh. It warms your chest. The content, joking atmosphere around the two of you pulses pink with the setting sun, bathing you in a glow you’ve yet to experience since becoming a part of this ship. You wonder if you’ll ever stop having existential realizations while being a companion of Mando.</p>
<p>“To that Mythrol,” Mando starts, your eyes darting to realign with his, “you mentioned something.”</p>
<p>Your brow pops up. “Hm?”</p>
<p>“You mentioned your mother.”</p>
<p>At that, the ease absorbing the air falls so you’re left cold and dangling with sand brushing your legs from the wind drifting it up the ramp. You swallow. </p>
<p>“Yes,” you acknowledge, not giving anymore.</p>
<p>He leaves open air for a moment, waiting to see if you’ll fill in the gaps. When you don’t he takes it upon himself. “She’s gone,” he continues. It feels like he isn’t trying to push, but bringing up the subject tells you he’s at least curious enough to expose the topic like a fresh wound.</p>
<p>You suck at your teeth. “Yes.”</p>
<p>Mando waits. What feels like cycles pass before he leans forward on his crate, bringing him that much closer to you, elbows finding his spread-open knees in that wide stance of his. “You never told me that before.”</p>
<p>In a daring move, your eyes cut to his. “I could say the same for you.”</p>
<p>“Fair.”</p>
<p>You didn’t expect him to agree and he also doesn’t elaborate further. He just trains his helmet your way, patient. Your eyes narrow. Next to the bag of rations you’d picked up today at the Outpost is the bottle of knockback nectar you’d splurged on. You reach down and grab at the neck of the jug, sitting back to full height and uncorking the top. Mando watches as you maintain what you think is eye contact while bringing the bottle to your lips, tipping your head back and gulping down a few swallows of it. When you’re done you exhale whatever fumes linger in your throat. <i>Maker</i>, it’s strong. </p>
<p>The alcohol finds a resting place on your knee, your fingers gripping the glass exterior of it a bit too hard. “She was sick,” you finally give, eyes back on the sandy horizon of your birthplace. Surrounded by what was once yours, in the place your mother worshipped, sitting next to the man you’ve chosen to spend your days with—guess there’s no time like the present. “Really sick. To this day I’m not sure what it was.”</p>
<p>Mando clears his throat. “Illnesses happen.”</p>
<p>The two-word sentence sours your tongue. “Pair that with an absent Empire-working father and you have a girl who was left to fend for herself in a galaxy where credits equal worth.” You steel your jaw, begging for the ache building behind your eyelids to go away. “I had nothing.”</p>
<p>“You had words,” he finishes for you, picking up the two breadcrumbs you’ve given him before this.</p>
<p>“Words only do so much,” you refute, blinking through the water gathering at the front of your vision. “Words didn’t help me get my father to return to Jakku when my mother got worse. He received my message at whatever Maker-forsaken Empire plant he was stationed to and sent back five measly credits. He didn’t even <i>try</i> to come back to his dying wife and lonely child. Not even a <i>shred</i> of compassion.”</p>
<p>Your face is pulsing red and you turn it the opposite way of Mando, not wanting him to see the irritation now coursing through you. The tears close to falling are a combination of defeat and frustration—mostly at reliving the unfairness of your childhood all over again while covered in its sand.</p>
<p>“I was the only one with her for so long,” you power through, voice low and quiet to ward off the onslaught of emotion. “I was the only one who <i>cared</i>.” You wipe at your nose, lowering your eyes to the bottle on your knee. “She died when I was thirteen. I stayed here for a little longer before finding transport off the planet. I’ve been on my own since then with no place in the galaxy.”</p>
<p>Breath leaves you shakily. Mando doesn’t make any move to comfort you—no arm around the shoulder, no touch, no endearing phrases. A part of you thanks him for it while another part wants assurance. You don’t know which one you want to win out. </p>
<p>Then— “And your father?”</p>
<p>You take a swig from the nectar. “Probably dead. I have no idea.”</p>
<p>The wind has picked up a bit now as the sun continues to lower in the sky. Your hair shifts around your shoulders. His powerful presence at your side swirls like the sand brushing your skin—different feelings erupt through you. Immediately, you want to tear your skin apart. You will <i>not</i> ache for him while mourning your dead parents. You <i>won’t</i>.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry for your loss,” Mando continues, his tone sounding as genuine as it can while behind a vocoder. “Both of them.” You shrug loosely, bringing your hand up to wipe at your cheek with your covered wrist. </p>
<p>“This was all cycles ago,” you remind him. The nectar has placed a nest of warmth at the center of your chest, blooming out like rivlets to your fingertips. You welcome it, allowing the feeling to dampen your emotions. “I’ve moved on.”</p>
<p>He’s still staring at you, gaze somehow piercing through that fucking helmet. He shifts, moving to press his back into the wall of the ship, crossing his arms over his chest. He keeps his pauldron-ed legs wide. “Are you happy?” he then asks, head tilting slightly to the side.</p>
<p>You curl your lips, turning your glare to him. “Pardon?” </p>
<p>“Don’t take it that way,” he returns, no heat in his voice. “I mean now. After your childhood, losing your parents, leading a life unknown—are you happy? Have you found your place in the galaxy?”</p>
<p>The weight of the questions blanket you. It’s getting ever darker outside, the sun winking at you as it dips further down. You swallow.</p>
<p>“Yes,” you murmur. “I am happy.”</p>
<p>His throat clears again. “With me?”</p>
<p>Maker, does he have a way of startling you with every inquiry. He can’t just ask a simple thing—it’s like he must always throw you off balance, keep you surprised with his heartfelt nonsense. Regardless, the corners of your lips turn up just a bit. </p>
<p>“Yes,” you confirm. “And your weird green child.”</p>
<p>He gives a breathy laugh, shaking his head. The silence surrounds you as you both just look at each other, the wind no longer feeling cold. Dryness attacks your throat as the energy decidedly shifts. You take another long pull from the knockback nectar. When you’re done guzzling it, he lets one arm drop from his chest to his thigh. His hand drifts over the armor piece there, two fingers tapping the beskar.</p>
<p>“Come here,” he rumbles.</p>
<p>You don’t let yourself get choked up. The jug of alcohol clunks back to the floor as you return it there, getting to your feet. He’s only a crates’ length from you so you take two steps before dropping into his lap, knees fitting against either side of his thighs. You recall the last time you were in the position, straddled over him—the atmosphere is entirely different this time. You’re more sure of your ties to him, more aware of how, although some uncertainty lingers, you’re both on the same page. Your hands find the cool surface of his shoulder pads.</p>
<p>His own touch finds your waist, gloved fingers smoothing over the fabric of your tunic. He lets out a little <i>tut</i> upon noticing the ripped material at the front. You grin but don’t say anything. </p>
<p>Mando lets the fingers of one hand push under the torn slice of the shirt, drifting up your bare skin before finding the curve of your breast. Your body rolls closer to him, the feeling of his gloves plucking at your nipple sending a bullet of fire down the center of you. A hum tugs out of your throat. </p>
<p>“Eager little thing,” he chides, the modulated voice pitched like midnight.</p>
<p>Excitement creates a hurricane in you as you remember where you are—in the middle of a desert, ramp open on this dirty ship, where any lone traveler could see Mando’s arm disappeared up your top. You practically pant as anticipation gathers right between your shaking thighs perched over him.</p>
<p>Your head leans into the smooth arch of his helmet, breath hitting the T at the front. “Are <i>you</i> happy?” you ask in place of a response to his heated words, letting your hips idly push into his.</p>
<p>He grunts. “What a question to ask when I have you seated atop me.”</p>
<p>“Fair is fair,” you shoot back, his other hand not exploring your breast tracing along the line of your waistband. “You hired a random girl off some dingy planet to negotiate for you when, for all intents and purposes, you don’t really need a negotiator. I find it reasonable that I ask if you’re satisfied with such a development.”</p>
<p>Fingers curl into your waistband at your words, squeezing the fabric under his palm. “Am I <i>satisfied</i>?” he hums, shifting his hips to echo your earlier press. You jolt at the hard length of him he lets you feel. “Sweet girl—you wound me.”</p>
<p>You let one of your own hands trail from his armor to his neck, uncovered by beskar. It’s swaddled by the weight of his cloak, concealing his skin from you. But you curl your hand there, touching a part of his body you have yet to. An inhale hits your ears through his modulator. His fingers pinch your nipple in reaction. </p>
<p>“Mando,” you breathe, “please fuck me again.”</p>
<p>He groans. “Fuck—<i>dirty</i> girl—”</p>
<p>“I don’t wanna talk about my bullshit anymore,” you tell him, grinding your aching center into his awaiting cock. “I’m here, I’m with you, and I’m happy. I’m constantly floored at the fact that you want me around, that you want <i>me at all</i>. Mando, I—”</p>
<p>A short growl cuts you off as his gloved touch leaves your trousers to grab your hand at his neck, pulling it down to the tent below your hips. You moan, understanding. You find his waistband tucked under the armor at his torso, yanking it down as best you can in your seated positions to then find his dick nestled there, swollen and ready for you. You wrap your hand around it and his hips pivot upward, startling your entire being. He gripes filthy words past his modulator.</p>
<p>Your grip starts a pace over his dick, ending each jerk with a swipe of your thumb to his tip, pre-cum gathering as you do. He lets out incoherent noises and you wish more than ever that you could see his face, could watch him fall apart while you use your hand to get him off. His hips rolling with each upward touch is enough for now, though, and a buzzing warmth settles at your clit. It feels heavy, tugging, begging for what Mando’s getting. </p>
<p>“Can I—<i>Maker</i>, Mando, can I—”</p>
<p>“Can you what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.”</p>
<p>Arousal pools in between your legs, slick and warm. “Can I ride you?” you breathe, lips open as your tongue swipes along the bottom one. “Please, let me make you feel good like—like you did for me—”</p>
<p>A stormy noise breaches the energy between you and him. “While the ramp is open?” You nod, ripping open your chest to let him peer into your desires. You wish you could see his clenched jaw, as the next words sound tight leaving him. “Dirty girl—” his hips stutter up, dick slipping through your grip, “—for anyone who passes by to see?”</p>
<p>In the back of your mind, under the swarming lust, you know it’s unlikely. That the desolate part of the desert he chose to station the Crest at would have <i>any</i> passerbyers. The illusion is too good to pass up, however, loving the idea that some pedestrian in a speeder could witness you bouncing on top of your intimidating Mandalorian—you soften the long moan you want to emit at the image. Fuck, he’s yanking something out of you you didn’t even know was there.</p>
<p>One of his hands finds your thigh, gripping hard enough you wonder if it will leave a bruise. Your clouded brain barely registers anything though as he mutters, “Take these off,” while fingering the fabric of your pants. A choked gasp leaves you.</p>
<p>His cock slides out of your hand as you push back to stumble to your feet, kicking your boots off not-so gracefully before letting your bottoms follow. Mando watches, tugging at his own gloves and letting them thud to the floor near your discarded clothing. Before you can remove your underwear, however, he stops you, drawing you into the space of his open thighs.</p>
<p>You quake, waiting, as his <i>bare hands</i> run over the soft skin of your tummy under the torn shirt, drifting to the edges of what remains on your lower half.</p>
<p>A finger hooks into the fabric, pulling down slightly. Breath catches in you. You look down to see his helmet trained on your covered mound, finger moving further to reveal more and more of you to him. Your knees slightly shake from the impatience rocketing through you.</p>
<p>When your underwear is bunched at the top of your thighs, completely exposing you, Mando releases a loud exhale into the filter at his mouth. You practically whine. </p>
<p>“Pretty girl,” he murmurs to himself, idly, before bringing his touch to your lips. Your jaw drops as he finds no resistance, just slick and warmth eagerly taking him in. Your hips roll toward him gently and his thumb coasts over your clit in response. </p>
<p>“Mando,” you release, soft as the air, “<i>please</i>.”</p>
<p>A sudden cold surface grazes the skin of your tummy, eliciting a hiss from you. It’s Mando’s helmet, dipping as he watches his own fingers getting soaked with your arousal. A part of you wonders if he’s also picturing his mouth pressing kisses over your abdomen while he peers up at you through his eyelashes.</p>
<p>You clench when trying to decide what color his eyes are.</p>
<p>He finally appeases you, tugging once more to let your underwear fall to the ground. You step out of them and eagerly drop back into his lap, panting and grabbing his dick to line up at your entrance.</p>
<p>“Wait, sweet girl, you aren’t ready—” he tries before you sink down onto him, letting the hot stretch burn through you. Your head falls back as you give out a cry.</p>
<p>His hands fuse to your hips, canting up into you before he can clearly stop himself. “<i>Fuck</i>,” he growls, almost spitting behind his modulator, “<i>impatient</i> little thing.” He presses harder, driving himself <i>that much</i> more into you, the head of his dick brushing a spot you aren’t sure he explored last time. You let out some garbled nonsense from the back of your throat.</p>
<p>“Feels—feels better this way,” you argue despite being breathless, starting a rocking motion with your hips since his grip on your middle isn’t allowing much else.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” he breathes, harsh. “Feels better to—to have me take you where anyone can see, without getting you nice and open first?” He grinds up into you, dirty and rough, and you keen high in your mouth. Your hands find his shoulders again, needing to clasp onto <i>something</i>. “Couldn’t even wait five seconds—”</p>
<p>You let your walls clutch down on him, stealing the words from his lips. “N-Needed this,” you tell him. His fingers ease up a bit on the imprinted marks he’s decidedly left on your hips, and you took the reprieve to shift up then back down. He grunts. “Needed you to—to fill me up—”</p>
<p>He arches into you. The give and take that follows feels bruising, power-bending as you try and set the pace while he snatches it right back for himself. You long to have what you want but want him to demand everything from you—it’s a dizzying juxtaposition that sends you reeling the more you ride his cock. Your breath starts coming out in short, sharp pants, a liquid blaze starting to sear through the center of you. Maker, you wish you could see yourself now, how you look on top of him as he takes what he wants from you all while from underneath—</p>
<p>“This is where you belong,” he groans, the words tumbling on his tongue. “Your—your place in the galaxy is here, on my ship—”</p>
<p>Breath darts past your lips. “Fucking you?” you jest, grinning as a bead of sweat rolls down your temple. </p>
<p>He growls. “Pretty girl—the mouth on you—”</p>
<p>“My place in the galaxy is—is where I feel home,” you finish for him, words coming out of you like rays from a blaster. Winded, hot, marked. You’re unsure how you’re having a conversation with him while his hips are bucking into you just so. “Home is—is here, Mando, with—with you—”</p>
<p>It courses through you before you can stop it. No noise leaves your throat as you suddenly come, the orgasm breaking you open more, your exposed nerves flying out farther. The force of it topples you into him and one of his arms bands across your back, holding you close as he takes control, continuing to thrust up into you. You moan at him using your sensitive cunt to finish what you started, filtered noises reaching your ears from where your head has found his shoulder.</p>
<p>Your eyes squint open, seeing his neck swirling in your vision. Part of his cloak has slipped, golden tanned skin peeking out from under black fabric. Your pussy clenches over his cock still moving inside you and he groans, head tilting away from your face, allowing <i>more</i> of his neck to show itself to you. </p>
<p>Before you can stop the movement, you inch forward, darting your tongue out to lick at the strip of skin. Tasting him. </p>
<p>“<i>Huhhn</i>,” Mando startles, shock coating the noise. You get more bold and press your lips there, teeth biting ever-so gently. His arm around you tightens, huddling you closer, and then he’s rocking into you harder, almost punishingly.</p>
<p>You don’t move back from his neck and keep your mouth there as he uses your aching pussy to finally finish. He gives out one ragged gasp before emptying into you, slamming his hips up into yours one final time. The cold touch of his helmet presses into the side of your face as his head slumps the opposite way, covering you, and you feel smothered under it as well as welcomed.</p>
<p>When his breath dies down a bit, the orgasm passing, you squirm on his shoulder and he picks his head back up. You stay against his neck, however, and feel his other arm come up to join the first one, pressing you near him. Your swollen center pulses around his softening dick, keeping the two of you warm while the sun continues settling lower and lower, everything almost completely dark out in the desert now.</p>
<p>The two of you stay there, connected, wondering in your own separate ways how it is the galaxy led you to each other. No matter what, you’re glad this place you once called home chewed you up and spit you out.</p>
<p>If it hadn’t, you’d never have found this wayward, silent soul with all his mysteries lying underneath. Maybe he’ll share them with you one day.</p>
<p>For now, you’re happy to bask in this tepid afterglow, surrounded by old and new discoveries. Because, anyway, you’ve still got time.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>-</p>
</div>The cockpit is quiet.<p>All you can hear is the whirring sound of hyperspace, encasing the ship as it blazes toward the Mid Rim. The gentle hum of the machinery around you is dull compared to Mando’s breathing, the way his chest expanding and falling against your back is almost hypnotizing you to sleep. You force your eyes to stay open, however, not wanting to be unconscious for even a <i>second</i> while he holds you, bracketing your body while between his thighs. </p>
<p>The next morning after Jakku he let you say your goodbye to the desert, standing in the middle of it and staring up at the blinking sun. It was a bittersweet feeling, leaving that planet again, but this time it felt right. Like finishing that race you started so long ago.</p>
<p>Then you, he, and the kid loaded up the Crest and pushed off the sandy dunes. Your eyes eagerly drank in the bright landscape one last time before disappearing into its stratosphere.</p>
<p>Now, half a day later, you and Mando are lying on the ground of the cockpit, up against the door, not saying anything.</p>
<p>There was another grand shift of energy. Again. The past week or so with him has been so tentative yet important, it feels, amongst the different changes you’ve both been through together. First, Tatooine, then here in this cockpit, <i>then</i> Batuu, then buying guns in Nevarro, and lastly Jakku—it’s been like a never ending chain of events, molding whatever has slowly developed between you two. </p>
<p>Sitting here, in the dimmed lighting of his ship’s helm, you can’t help but think on the fact that you’ve overshared. Told him too much about yourself, let him pull apart the wiring of you. It dawns on you that he’s <i>asked</i> for things, yet hasn’t reciprocated. Does he even want to open up to you? Has he thought about sharing his past? Your fingers tighten over his arm that’s wrapped around your middle, wondering if you’ll learn anything about—</p>
<p>“You’re thinking.”</p>
<p>You tense in his hold, swallowing. “Uh, yeah—yes, I am.”</p>
<p>His hand that’s been resting on the dip of your waist squeezes, once, before he speaks again. Low along the floor of his mouth. “About?”</p>
<p>You scrunch up your mouth, not wanting to ruin the comfortable atmosphere. “Nothing.”</p>
<p>He gives out a short hum. “And now she’s lying to me.”</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m not—” you huff, knocking your hand into his elbow crooked at your side, slightly puffing out your bottom lip. “Sorry. I just, uh, I don’t know.”</p>
<p>He waits. When you don’t continue, he gives out another unhelpful noise. “You don’t know?”</p>
<p>“I just—” you start, unsure. Maker, fuck it. “You know so much about me now. I just—wonder if you’ll do the same. For me.”</p>
<p>Dead silence greets you, the calming sounds of space filtering back in as you stay stock still with bated breath. His breathing seems to have halted as well, the armored chest against your back ceasing motion. You swallow again. </p>
<p>“You did say fair is fair,” Mando replies, a light chuckle in his voice. Your eyes widen, excitement thrumming through you. <i>Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, is he going to—</i> “You mentioned how after your parents died you were left unsure of your place in the galaxy. Trying to find it.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t finish the thought so you nod, showing him you’re listening.</p>
<p>“I didn’t have to find it,” he continues, fingers squeezing again at your waist. This time, it doesn’t let up. “It found me. When you told me you had lost your parents—I didn’t know what to say at first. Since I lost mine.”</p>
<p>Your shoulders jerk at the admission and he settles you, inching his legs that much closer around your body between them. Oh, Maker, he’s so big. A part of you is glad you’re not facing him so he doesn’t have to see the conflicting emotions most likely showing in your expression. </p>
<p>“I was a foundling,” Mando tells you, voice still as low and modulated as it usually is. The edge it has to it, though, reminds you that speaking of the past doesn’t come without pain. “I didn’t realize we had such heavy losses in common. Unlike you, I didn’t <i>see</i> a parent lose their life in front of me.” Here he releases a shuddery breath. “I heard it.”</p>
<p>Your eyes slip shut. “Oh, Mando—”</p>
<p>“Amidst the battle I was rescued by a Mandalorian warrior, raised as one of their own.” His bulldozing of your words doesn’t upset you, as it’s his story to tell. You lean back into his chest further, his voice above your ear turning into a buzzing kind of lullaby. “I understand your feelings of uncertainty. Although I was given a chance, given a different family, I never lost that. That faltering sense of wonderment. Of where I <i>actually</i> belong.”</p>
<p>Your chest splinters. You slide a hand along the arm still encased around you, stopping it at his on your side. You allow your fingers to ease into his, overlapping them so he has something else to ground to. </p>
<p>“The Creed tells us that removing the helmet is like choosing death.” The last word stings, but you ignore the feeling of it behind your eyelids. “Once it’s off it is off forever. Choosing to age without a face is like—sealing your fate in the most profound way. I chose to welcome questions about my name, speculation of what lies beneath. I—” here he pauses, breathing deep into his vocoder. “Why have you never asked me to take it off?”</p>
<p>Your eyes widen a bit. When you realize he’s actually asking the question, hoping for an answer, you clear your throat. It feels clogged a bit. “It’s not my demand to make.”</p>
<p>Your words seep into the air. The atmosphere swirling your forms starts to feel like it did back in that hotel room on Tatooine—like the two of you are standing on a precipice, seconds from tumbling into something new. Something terrifying. </p>
<p>“People <i>have</i> asked,” he says, voice firm as steel. “They would so brazenly step over the visible boundary I have set, step over the only thing I can cling to.”</p>
<p>You’re afraid to ask, but you do it anyway. “Which is?”</p>
<p>“My identity.”</p>
<p>Breath leaves you shakily. The galaxy feels a thousand times heavier after just the past few minutes in this cockpit with your mysterious Mandalorian. The enigmatic aura surrounding him has started to ebb, however. And you’re screaming on the inside that you’re the one witnessing it.</p>
<p>He continues. “That’s why when, in that hotel room—” (You blanch at the fact that it seems as if he’s read your mind, calling back to the same memory that was just stuck to the sides of your brain moments ago) “—you offered to do the opposite for me—take away your sight so I could be without the helmet—it was more than respecting my Creed. It was more than anyone has offered to do for me since I was saved from the same demise as my parents.” </p>
<p>Your chest is moving rapidly up and down now. Tears blur your vision. Holy <i>fuck</i>—</p>
<p>
  <i>It speaks worlds into existence.</i>
</p>
<p>A choked little noise escapes your throat before you can stop it. You smother it by clearing your throat a second time. </p>
<p>The fact that this man can show you who he is without revealing the most secretive part of himself to you will never cease to baffle you. You are on your knees, at this point, thanking whatever force above that allowed you to be here with him.</p>
<p>“You reminded me that there are people who yearn to understand the world in which we live,” Mando is saying now, arm practically crushing you into him at this point. “You’ve yearned for placement, I’ve yearned for what I never thought I could have.”</p>
<p>You lean your head back into his shoulder, the steel bottom cut of his helmet just next to your cheek. “Do you have that now?”</p>
<p>He shrugs, such a casual gesture for someone in his armor. “There’s always more.”</p>
<p>“Well,” you say slowly, the weight of what’s already been said easing a bit with the slight subject change, “what do you already have? That you didn’t think you could? That’s a start.”</p>
<p>“A family.”</p>
<p>This sends a blaster hit straight into your sternum. You’re left breathless yet again. You take a few heaving breaths, wondering if Mando has even noticed the effect of his words on you tonight. “You had one,” you try to recall from his story, “with the Mandalorians who took you in. Did you not?”</p>
<p>“That’s—” he struggles, voice rocky and pitch black. “The Tribe was a family like a means to an end. When I think back on my old life, to the memories I have of my parents—” he shifts behind you, uneasy, “that’s a different family. I—couldn’t help but covet that.”</p>
<p>“And yet you—have it? Now?”</p>
<p>He nods, once. “The kid.”</p>
<p>At the mention of the little green monster you relax a bit, lips pulling into a smile. You’ve never outright heard Mando refer to that little bean as his <i>son</i>, but the adoration he has for him certainly feels like that word encompasses it. A new question picks at your brain with the sudden turn of conversation, so you allow your mind to steer toward it.</p>
<p>“The kid,” you repeat, rolling the words around in your mouth. “How did he come under your care, by the way?”</p>
<p>He stiffens a bit, unresponsive.</p>
<p>“It’s just—” you cough. “A Mandalorian walking around with a little green goblin-looking thing isn’t, you know, an everyday norm.” When there’s still a small silence you shake your head. “You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious—”</p>
<p>“It’s fine,” he interrupts, voice still rough. You bite your lip. “You—you can know. It just doesn’t leave this ship.”</p>
<p>You nod, quick. </p>
<p>“He was a bounty,” he tells you. Your eyebrows shoot up. That—that you weren’t expecting. “The mission went awry but I delivered him accordingly. The bounty had been set by the Empire.”</p>
<p>Your arm jerks and an elbow clangs it to his armor. <i>Ow</i>. His hand comes up and cups the crook of it, slightly chuckling. “Maker,” you mutter. “The <i>Empire</i>?”</p>
<p>His comments about just that on Jakku make a lot more sense.</p>
<p>“You gave him to the <i>Empire</i>?” you exclaim, sitting up and fully turning your body to face him. Even though you can’t see his face as you connect eyes with his helmet, the energy that radiates off him is nothing short of <i>bemused</i>. “Maker, Mando, I can’t believe y—”</p>
<p>“I went and got him back,” he cuts you off, voice bordering on a laugh, “didn’t I?”</p>
<p>You huff, slightly miffed at his teasing. “<i>Still</i>.”</p>
<p>He gives a full-on chuckle. “He’s my foundling. That isn’t something I take lightly.” Immediately, the atmosphere sobers. You purse your lips, nodding. “I’ve been told by multiple people that I’ve developed an attachment to him.”</p>
<p>You quirk a brow, bringing a knee up to rest your arm against in your new seated position between his legs. “That wasn’t obvious to you?”</p>
<p>“Regardless,” he throws back, crossing his arms over his chest, “there are people still after him.” Your heart sinks. “I’ve evaded them for awhile but—we have to be careful. That’s why this information can’t leave the ship. I trust you to do that for me.” He cocks his head to the side for show.</p>
<p>You roll your eyes. “Like <i>you</i> said before—you wound me.”</p>
<p>A moment passes where a part of you wonders if those after the kid <i>will</i> catch up. Eventually. A shiver races down your spine at the thought. You can’t—you <i>won’t</i> even consider it. You just learned of this truth and already wish you could bask in your previous ignorant bliss. Something unspoken settles between you two. And yet—now you know. You can help in keeping Mando’s kid as safe as possible.</p>
<p>You clear your throat, desperate to rid of the lingering idea of the kid being taken. “Tell me something new.”</p>
<p>“Care to clarify?”</p>
<p>“Something about you,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. “Not—not like what happened to your parents. Thank you for sharing that with me but—I want to hear about something simple.”</p>
<p>You’d bet your credits that he’s smiling under that helmet. “Simple?” he asks.</p>
<p>You frown. “Mando.”</p>
<p>“Okay, okay,” he laughs, dropping his arms from his chest. One falls to his leg and goes behind you, gloved hand fitting against your back. Your mouth runs dry. “Mandalorians have a language. Mando’a.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” you reply, not expecting this. “I’ve never heard you speak it.”</p>
<p>“I only speak it with others from Mandalore,” he admonishes, fingers on your back beginning to move up and down. “It’s somewhat of a...condensed language.”</p>
<p>You smile, something warm settling in you. He’s been sharing things, revealing parts of himself, much like he’s asked of you as of late. You can’t describe the emotion overcoming you, breaching your nerve endings, but it's strong on your tongue. It tastes like nectar and something dark—coating. You’ve never felt more intimate with him then in this little corner you’ve cut out for yourselves.</p>
<p>“Tell me some of it,” you suggest, the smile on your lips light.</p>
<p>He hums, pondering. You take a second to appreciate his relaxed state, leaned back against the door of the cockpit while you hurtle through space, shoulders loose and hand soft on your back. You yet again wonder who else has been able to see him like this, has had the privilege to watch him unburden the weight of the galaxy. There’s no word that could encapsulate how you’re treasuring it—this suspended moment with him. </p>
<p>“<i>Cyar’ika</i>,” he’s suddenly saying, bringing you back to reality. “<i>Dinuir</i>.” His hand flattens on you, fingertips digging in. “<i>Ka’rta</i>.”</p>
<p>Your pulse beats harder at your neck and you aren’t sure why. “What does all of that mean?”</p>
<p>“They’re words for you,” he murmurs, pushing off from the door a bit. He looms closer because of it and your tongue goes heavy. “You give so much, darling, that there’s hardly enough of your heart left for the rest of you.”</p>
<p>Something fires through you. Your jaw drops somewhat, eyes defocusing. Before you can even begin to formulate a response to his unearthly words, his hand on your back pushes, bringing you that much more into him. You feel dazed, so overtaken by this armored warrior you don’t know what to do with yourself.</p>
<p>“Close your eyes,” he demands suddenly, hot and fast in his mouth. You don’t even think, just do, letting your eyelids slip shut of their own accord.</p>
<p>It all happens so fast in the next stretch of seconds—the sound of rustling, beskar hitting the ground, a shift of <i>air</i>—and then his hands are moving and are on the side of your face bringing you <i>impossibly</i> closer—</p>
<p>
  <i>Maker, Maker, Maker—</i>
</p>
<p>He’s kissing you.</p>
<p>A low sound crawls out the back of your throat at the immediate <i>feel</i> of his lips on yours, bruising and warm. It takes one, two, three heartbeats before you can feel your body begin to react, your hands coming up and finding his shoulders and neck, claiming purchase wherever his slippery armor allows. He gives a groan of his own, one hand sliding from your face to your middle, tugging.</p>
<p>You push forward even more, your front colliding with his just as his mouth opens for you, allowing you to sink in. There aren’t enough stars in the sky to compare the way white light bursts behind your squeezed-shut lids as his tongue touches yours. It almost shocks you how soft affection curls around your limbs at the long, languid way he’s kissing you, stealing your breath and locking you into him. He presses harder, taking what he wants. It all scorches through you. </p>
<p>He tastes like heat and space, fumes that burn in the sky and Corellian whiskey that tingles behind your teeth. His following grunt is delicious in your mouth, vibrating your tongue as it wraps around his. </p>
<p>One of your hands drifts up, finding those tendrils of his hair again, gripping hard. He hisses a bit, backing off, and you gulp heavily at the minute retreat. Your eyes remain closed. His own hand gripping one side of your face squeezes where his fingers are hooked behind your ear, chuckling. “Pretty girl,” he breathes, what sounds like the whisper of a smile in his voice, “you deal more than you can take.”</p>
<p>You gasp for air, feeling his breath against your lips. <i>His breath</i>. Your heart is shattering into pieces and morphing back together, all in one sitting. </p>
<p>“Is that a challenge?” you return, letting the tease slip into your tone.</p>
<p>His next exhale borders on a growl, smothered in gravel and deep in his chest. “Insufferable,” he mutters before dipping down, pressing his mouth to yours once more. Your pulse leaps, drowning out the sound of hyperspace swirling your ship. </p>
<p>Knowing that his face is <i>touching</i> yours, stealing kisses from your lips and rubbing stubble into your skin, has your flesh going up in flames. This newfound trust, respect, adoration you’ve garnered for him all in the span of—Maker who <i>knows</i> how long ties itself into a knot at the base of your spine. Having him this close, savoring him, feels like discovering a new planet. A new place.</p>
<p>You wonder if his fingers clasping at you are tingling the same way yours are. If his head is dizzy from development or hungry for more hope. And as he takes exactly what he wants from you, appreciating your mouth against his like the sweet taste of wine, his hand makes quick work of a pouch on his belt. </p>
<p>From the depths of it he pulls out a long, torn piece of fabric, ready to unravel you in the same manner you’ve done to him. Without even meaning to.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>did Mando take you to your home planet that's in the Inner Rim even though in the show he never leaves the Outer Rim because of New Republic authorities? ... yes. please let me do what i need to do (*insert Tyler the Creator gif here)</p>
<p><span class="u">translations</span>:<br/><i>cyar’ika</i> - beloved, darling, sweetheart<br/><i>dinuir</i> - to give<br/><i>ka’rta</i> - heart, soul</p>
<p>anyway, i have a part 3 brewing in my brain. let's see what happens!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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